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THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


I j 


OF 


CAMPBELL  AND  FALCONEK 


WITH  A MEMOIR  OF  EACH 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
Eiucrstlie  Pi:e0£[,  CaniitciDs; 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
LITTLE,  BBOWN,  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Maaaa- 
chusetis. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


This  edition  of  Campbeirs  Poems  is  printed 
from  the  London  edition  of  1851.  The  Bio- 
graphical Sketch  of  the  Poet,  and  the  notes  which 
stand  at  the  end  of  several  of  the  pieces,  relating 
to  the  circumstances  of  their  composition  and  the 
success  they  met  with,  are  by  the  Rev.  W.  A.  Hill, 
who  is  connected  with  Campbell’s  family  by  mar- 
riage with  his  niece.  It  is  proper  to  remark  that 
the  Memoir  has  been  slightly,  and  the  Notes  con- 
siderably abridged,  and  that  some  of  the  notes  of 
the  London  edition  have  been  omitted. 

It  has  not  been  thought  advisable  to  reprint  in 
this  volume  pieces  which  the  Author  deliberately 
rejected.  A single  exception  has  been  made  in 
the  case  of  the  “ Dirge  of  Wallace,”  which  is 
given  in  an  Appendix  for  the  sake  of  one  ener- 
getic stanza.  c. 


> 


CONTENTS. 


CAMPBELL. 

Page 

Biographical  Sketch vii 

Pleasures  of  Hope. — Part  1 1 

Partn 27 

Theodric:  a Domestic  Tale 49 

Martial  Ele^. — From  the  Greek  of  Tyrtgeus 74 

Song  of  Hybrias  the  Cretan 76 

Fragment. — From  the  Greek  of  Aleman. . . 76 

Specimens  of  Translations  from  Medea 77 

Speech  of  the  Chorus,  in  the  same  Tragedy 78 

O’Connor’s  Child ; or,  The  Flower  of  Love  lies  Bleeding” . 83 

Lochiel’s  Warning 94 

Ye  Mariners  of  England:  a Naval  Ode 98 

Battle  of  the  Baltic. . .101 

Hohenlinden 105 

Glenara 107 

Exile  of  Erin 110 

Lord  UUin’s  Daughter 113 

Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Bums 116 

Lines  written  on  visiting  a Scene  in  Ai’gyleshire 120 

The  Soldier’s  Dream 123 

To  the  Rainbow 125 

The  Last  Man 123 

A Dream 131 

Valedictory  Stanzas  to  J.  P.  Kemble,  Esq 135 

Gertrude  op  Wyoming. — Parti 139 

Part  II 153 

Part  III 163 

Lines  written  at  the  request  of  the  Highland  Society  in 
London,  when  met  to  commemorate  the  21st  of  March, 
the  Day  of  Victory  in  Egypt 181 


11 


CONTENTS, 


Page 

Stanzas  to  the  Memory  of  the  Spanish  Patriots  latest 
killed  in  resisting  the  Regency  and  the  Duke  of  Angou- 

leme 183 

Song  of  the  Greeks 186 

Ode  to  Winter. 188 

Lines  spoken  by  Mrs.  Bartley  at  Drury-Lane  Theatre,  on 
the  first  opening  of  the  House  after  the  Death  of  the 

Princess  Charlotte,  1817 190 

Lines  on  the  Grave  of  a Suicide 193 

Reullura, . . 194 

The  Turkish  Lady 202 

The  Brave  Roland 204 

The  Spectre  Boat:  a Ballad 206 

The  Lover  to  his  Mistress  on  her  Birth-Day 208 

Song — “Oh,  how  hard” 209 

Adelgitha 210 

Lines  on  receiving  a Seal  with  the  Campbell  Crest,  from 

K.  M — , before  her  Marriage 211 

Gilderoy 213 

Stanzas  on  the  threatened  Invasion,  1803 215 

The  Ritter  Bann 217 

Song — “Men  of  England” 226 

Song — “ Drink  ye  to  her” 226 

The  Harper 227 

The  Wounded  Hussar .228 

Love  and  Madness:  an  Elegy 230 

Hallowed  Ground 234 

Song — “ Withdraw  not  yet” 238 

Caroline. — Part  1 239 

Part  11.  To  the  Evening  Star 241 

The  Beech  Tree’s  Petition 243 

Field  Fbwers 244 

Song — “To  the  Evening  Star” 246 

Stanzas  to  Painting 247 

The  Maid’s  Remonstrance 250 

Absence 251 

Lines  inscribed  on  the  Monument  erected  by  the  Widow 
of  Admiral  Sir  G.  Campbell,  K.C.B.,  to  the  memory  of 
her  Husband 262 


CONTENTS. 


iii 

Page 

Stanzas  on  the  Battle  of  Navarino 253 

Lines  on  revisiting  a Scottish  River 255 

The  “Name  Unknown;”  in  imitation  of  Klopstock 257 

Farewell  to  Love 259 

1 lines  on  the  Camp  Hill,  near  Hastings .260 

Lines  on  Poland 262 

A Thought  suggested  by  the  New  Year 269 

Song — “ How  delicious  is  the  winning” 270 

Margaret  and  Dora 271 

The  Power  of  Russia 272 

Lines  on  leaving  a Scene  in  Bavaria 277 

The  Death-Boat  of  Heligoland 283 

Song — “When  Love  came  first  to  Earth” 286 

Song-^“ Earl  March  looked  on  his  Dying  Child” 287 

Song — “When  Napoleon  was  flying” 288 

Lines  to  Julia  M , sent  with  a copy  of  the  Author’s 

Poems 289 

Drinking  Song  of  Munich 290 

Lines  on  the  Departure  of  Emigrants  for  New  South  Wales  .291 

Lines  on  revisiting  Cathcart 296 

The  Cherubs. — Suggested  by  an  Apologue  in  the  Works 

of  Franklin 297 

Senex’s  Soliloquy  on  his  youthful  Idol 301 

To  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  on  his  Speech  delivered  in  Par 
liament,  August  7,  1832,  respecting  the  Foreign  Policy 

of  Great  Britain 302 

Ode  to  the  Gennans 301 

Lines  on  a Picture  of  a Girl  in  the  attitude  of  Prayer,  by 
the  Artist  Gruse,  in  the  possession  of  Lady  Stepney. . . . 306 

Lines  on  the  View  from  St.  Leonard’s 308 

The  Dead  Eagle. — Written  at  Oran 314 

Song — “To  Love  in  my  Heart” 318 

Lines  vTitten  in  a blank  leaf  of  La  Perouse’s  Voyages. . .320 

The  Pilgrim  of  Glencoe ,323 

Napoleon  and  the  British  Sailor .349 

Benlomond 362 

The  Child  and  Hind 353 

The  Jilted  Nymph 360 

On  getting  home  the  Portrait  of  a Female  Child 362 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

The  Parrot 

Song  of  the  Colonists  departing  for  New  Zealand 366 

Moonlight 337 

Song  on  our  Queen 369 

Cora  Linn,  or  the  Falls  of  the  Clyde 370 

Chaucer  and  Windsor 372 

Lines  suggested  by  the  Statue  of  Arnold  von  Winkelried.  .373 

To  the  United  States  of  North  America 374 

Lines  on  my  new  Child-sweetheart 375 

The  Launch  of  a First-rate 377 

To  a Young  Lady 378 

Epistle,  from  Algiers,  to  Horace  Smith 379 

Fragment  of  an  Oratorio 382 

To  my  Niece,  Mary  Campbell 385 

Appendix.  The  Dirge  of  Wallace 387 

Notes 389 


FALCONER. 

Page 

The  Life  of  William  Falconer,  by  the  Rev.  J. 

Mitford V 

THE  SHIPWRECK. 

Introduction 5 

First  Canto 11 

Character  of  Albert 18 

Character  of  Rodmond 19 

Character  of  Arion 20 

Character  of  Palemon 22 

Description  of  Noon  during  a Calm.  26 

Palemon’ s History 27 

Description  of  a Sun-set  in  the  Archipelago 38 

Description  of  Morning 41 

Description  of  the  Ship,  as  seen  by  the  Inhabitants 
of  Candia,  on  her  leaving  the  Harbour 42 

Second  Canto 47 

Description  of  a Water  Spout 50 


CONTENTS. 


V 


Description  of  a dying  Dolphin 52 

Description  of  a threatening  Sky 54 

The  Squall 55 

Ship  driven  out  of  her  Course 58 

Portentous  Sun-set 59 

Different  Opinions  of  the  Officers 60 

Four  Seamen  lost 62 

A tremendous  Sea  shipped 66 

The  Well  sounded 67 

Guns  thrown  overboard 69 

Speeches  of  the  Master  and  his  Mates,  on  their  alarm- 
ing situation 72 

Albert’s  Exhortation 79 

Mizzen-mast  cut  away 84 

Third  Canto 87 

Ship  put  before  the  Wind 92 

Falconera 94 

View  of  the  renowned  Cities  of  Greece 96 

Scudding 105 

Daybreak 106 

Lee  Shore  — St.  George’s  Cliffs 107 

Land  * ' Athens  appears J.09 

Ship  laid  broadside  to  thp  "uore Ill 

She  strikes 113 

Occasional  Elegy,  in  which  the  preceding  Narrative 

is  concluded 125 

Notes  and  Illustrations  to  the  Shipwreck 129 

The  Demagogue 189 

A Poem,  sacred  to  the  Memory  of  His  Royal  Highness 

Frederic  Prince  of  Wales 213 

Ode  on  the  Duke  of  York’s  second  Departure  from  Eng- 
land as  Rear  Admiral 219 

The  Fond  Lover.  A Ballad 230 

On  the  uncommon  Scarcity  of  Poetry  in  the  Gentleman’s 

Magazine  for  December,  1755 232 

Description  of  a Ninety-Gun  Ship 234 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


t 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


OF 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL- 


* “ I SIT  down  to  take  a retrospect  of  my  life* 
Why  should  the  task  make  me  sad  ? Have  1 not 
many  blessings  and  many  friends  ? Yes  ! thanks 
to  God,  very  many.  But  life,  when  we  look 
back  upon  it,  has  also  many  painful  recollections  ; 
and  pain,  when  viewed  either  as  past  or  to  come, 
makes  a deeper  impression  on  the  imagination 
than  either  the  past  pleasures  or  comforts  of  life 
that  can  be  recalled.  In  the  remembrance  of  our 
lives  we  are  like  unfair  tradesmen,  who  omit  a 
part  of  their  debts  in  their  balance  of  accounts. 
We  resign  ourselves  to  forget — myriads  of  the 
easy,  tranquil,  or  even  pleasing  though  anxious 
hours  of  our  being  ; but  for  an  hour  of  pain  we 
make  a large  charge  in  our  estimate  of  compared 
misery  and  happiness.  I do  not  think  that  it  is 
a fair  argument  to  urge  against  individual-com- 
parative happiness,  that  because  most  of  us,  if  the 
question  were  put — Would  you  wish  to  spend 
your  life  over  again  ? — would  probably  say — No, 


Retrospect  of  life,  written  by  himself. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


I thank  you  ; I have  had  enough  of  it.  This  is 
just  as  if  you  were  to  ask  me,  after  I had  finished 
a narrative  book  that  had  much  amused  me  — 
How  should  you  like  to  read  it  over  again  ? Why, 
possibly,  unless  the  book  were  Robinson  Crusoe, 
I should  say  — No,  I cannot  now  read  the  book 
with  the  same  curiosity  as  before.  Even  so  it  is 
with  life.  Its  evils  are  sweetened  by  hope,  novel- 
ty, and  curiosity.  How  can  we  imagine  ourselves 
animated  by  these  feelings  a second  time,  if  we 
were  to  enter  on  a second  existence  ? But  why, 
it  may  be  asked,  if  the  retrospect  of  life  be  in  the 
least  sad,  should  I set  down  to  the  task  of  noting 
its  memoranda?  Why,  unimportant  as  I am,  I 
know  that  some  account  of  me  will  be  written. 
Dr.  Beattie  has  even  volunteered  to  be  my  bio- 
grapher. He  is  likely  to  survive  me  by  fifteen 
years,  and  a better  biographer  I could  not  find, 
except  that  he  would  be  too  laudatory.  I know 
not,  however,  what  business  Dr.  Beattie  may  have 
on  his  hands  at  the  time  when  it  may  please  God 
to  call  me  away,  and  to  leave  my  friend  to  grope 
his  way  through  letters  collected  from  my  corres- 
pondents, or  through  confused  memoranda  of  my 
own  writing,  would  be  but  a sorry  bequest  to  my 
best  of  friends. 

“ I shall  leave  to  you,  therefore,  my  dear  niece,* 
a series  of  the  recollections  of  my  life,  as  distinctly 
connected  as  I can  make  them,  and  he  and  you, 
after  my  death,  may  make  what  use  of  them  you 
think  most  proper. 

“ I was  born,  as  our  family  Bible  states  (for 
this  is  none  of  my  own  recollection),  in  Glasgow, 
on  the  27th  of  July,  1777,  at  7 o’clock  in  the 

* May  Cambell,  now  Mrs.  W.  Alfred  Hill. 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBKLL.  ix 

morning.  The  house  which  my  father  and  his 
family  inhabited  then,  and  for  fourteen  years 
afterwards,  was  in  the  High  Street  of  Glasgow, 
a little  above,  and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Havannah  Street,  but  was  pulled  down  to  open 
a new  street  crossing  the  High  Sti-eet  between 
the  new  grammar-school  and  the  road  east  of  the 
Gallowgafe,  so  that  the  house  and  room  in  which 
I was  born  is  not  now  an  earthly  locality,  but  a 
place  in  the  empty  air,  emblematic,  perhaps,  of 
my  future  memory. 

“ I have  uncommonly  early  recollections  of  life ; 
1 remember,  that  is  to  say,  I seem  to  remember, 
many  circumstances  which  I was  told  had  occurred 
when  I could  not  have  been  quite  three  years  old. 

“ In  very  early  years  I was  boarded,  during 
the  summer,  in  the  country  near  Glasgow,  at 
Pollock  Shaws,  in  the  humble  house  of  a stocking- 
weaver,  John  Stewart,  whose  wife  Janet  was  as 
kind  to  me  as  my  own  mother  could  be. 

“ During  the  winter,  in  those  infantine  years, 
I returned  to  my  father’s  house,  and  my  youngest 
sister  taught  me  reading.  My  reading,  of  course, 
was  principally  in  the  Bible,  and  I contracted  a 
liking  for  the  Old  Testament  which  has  never  left 
me.  The  recollection  of  this  period  makes  an 
exception  to  the  general  retrospect  of  my  life, 
making  me  somewhat  sad.  1 was  then  the  hap- 
piest of  young  human  animals,  at  least,  during  the 
months  which  I spent  under  the  roof  of  John  and 
Janet  Stewart.  It  is  true  I slept  on  a bed  of 
chaff,  and  my  fare,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  not 
sumptuous,  but  life  was  young  within  me.  Pol- 
lock Shaws  was  at  that  time  rural  and  delightful 
The  stocking-v^eaver’s  house  was  on  a flat  piece 
of  ground,  half  circularly  inclosed  by  a small 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


X 

running  stream,  called  by  the  Scotch,  a ‘ burn. 
On  one  side  above  it  were  ascending  fields  which 
terminated  in  trees  along  the  high  road  to  Glas- 
gow. I remember  no  picture  by  Claude  that 
ever  threw  me  into  such  dreams  of  delight  as  this 
landscape.  I remember  leaping  over  the  tallest 
yellow  weeds  with  ecstasy.  I remember  seeing 
beautiful  weed-fiowers  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
burn  which  I could  not  approach  to  pull,  and 
wishing  in  my  very  soul  to  get  at  them,  still  I 
could  not  cross  the  burn.  There  were  trouts,  too, 
in  the  stream,  and  what  a glorious  event  was  the 
catching  a trout.  I was  happy,  however.  Once 
only  in  my  life  perfectly  happy. 

“At  eight  years  old  I went  to  the  grammar- 
school  of  Glasgow,  where,  among  seventy  other 
boys,  I was  the  pupil  of  David  Alison.  He  was 
a severe  disciplinarian  of  the  old  school,  and  might 
be  compared  to  Gil  Bias’s  master,  ‘ who  was  the 
most  expert  fiogger  in  all  Oviedo.^  But  I was 
one  of  his  pet  scholars,  and  he  told  my  father  that 
he  often  spared  me,  when  he  ought  to  have  wliipt 
me,  because  I looked  so  innocent.  He  was  a 
noble-looking  man.  At  the  periodical  examina- 
tions by  the  magistrates,  he  looked  a prince  in 
comparison  even  with  the  Provost  with  his  golden 
chain.  And  he 

“ ‘ Was  kind,  or  if  severe  in  auglit, 

The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault.’ 

“ So  that  he  was  popular  even  among  his  whip- 
pees.  I was  so  early  devoted  to  poetry,  that  at 
ten  years  old,  when  our  master  interpreted  to  us 
the  first  Eclogue  of  Virgil,  I was  literally  thrilled 
by  its  beauty.  Already  we  had  read  bits  of  Ovid, 
but  he  never  affected  me  half  so  much  as  the 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


X] 


apostrophe  of  Tityrus  to  his  cottage,  from  which 
he  had  been  driven  : — 

“ ‘ En  unquam  patrios  longo  post  tempore  fines 
Pauperis  et  tuguri  congestum  cespite  culmen 
Post  aliquot,  mea  regua  videns,  mirabor  aristas.’ 

“ David  Alison  was,  I believe,  a very  good 
teacher  of  Latin,  and  he  attended  more  to  prosody 
than  his  predecessors  are  said  to  have  done.  At 
the  same  time  the  whole  mode  of  tuition  was 
barbarous  and  inefficient.  Some  seventy  boys  in 
each  of  the  four  classes  were  confined  in  their 
class  rooms,  for  two  hours  at  a stretch,  three  times 
in  a day.  Out  of  the  seventy,  I believe  that 
scarcely  seven  acquired,  during  four  years,  more 
Latin  than  a boy  of  ordinary  capacity  might  have 
been  taught,  by  proper  management,  in  one  year. 
There  was  a general  and  pretty  noisy  murmur  in 
the  room.  When  the  seven  who  could  say  their 
lessons  had  been  heard,  they  were,  instead  of 
being  set  at  liberty,  confined  till  the  sixty-three 
dunces  were  examined  in  divisions,  and  whipped 
in  a geometrical  scale  of  descent,  and  loud  were 
the  screeches  of  those  who  suffered  from  the 
leathern  thong.  I understand  that  there  is  now 
a fifth  class,  and  a rector  in  the  grammar-school 
of  Glasgow ; — that  it  has  even  a professor  of  elocu- 
tion attached  to  it,  and  that  great  improvement 
has  taken  place. 

“ In  my  thirteenth  year,  I went  to  the  Univer- 
sity of  Glasgow,  and  put  on  the  red  gown.  The 
joy  of  the  occasion  made  me  unable  to  eat  my 
breakfast.  I am  told  that  race-horses,  on  the 
morning  of  the  day  when  they  know  they  are  to 
be  brought  to  the  race,  are  so  agitated  that  they 
refuse  their  oats.  Whether  it  was  presentiment, 


xii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


or  the  mere  castle-building  of  my  vanity,  I had 
even  then  a day-dream  that  I should  be  one  day 
Lord  Rector  of  the  University.  In  my  own  life- 
time, Lord  Jeffrey  and  myself  have  been  the  only 
two  Rectors  who  were  educated  at  Glasgow. 

“ The  Professor  of  Latin  in  Glasgow  Univer- 
sity at  that  time  was  William  Richardson,  some- 
what known  among  our  little  known  poets,  and 
author  of  a tragedy  called  ‘ The  Indians.’  He 
was  a gentlemanlike  man,  though  rather  mincing 
and  fribbling  in  his  gait  and  manner,  and  a tho- 
rough-paced Tory  slave,  in  what  he  called  his 
principles, — a mere  creature  of  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
trose* Yet  he  was  a very  fair  teacher,  and  I ought 
to  remember  him  with  gratitude,  for  he  encourag- 
ed and  gave  me  the  distinction  of  a prize  for  my 
earliest  attempts  in  poetical  translation.” 

Here  the  MS.,  contained  in  Campbell’s  hand- 
writing, which  is  believed  to  have  been  writen  in 
1842,  breaks  off,  and  recommences  at  another  part 
of  liis  biography. 

The  editor  requests  the  reader,  in  limine^  to 
glance  for  a moment  at  the  history  of  the  Poet’s 
family,  which  may  be  traced  for  many  generations. 

Prom  documentary  evidence  and  records  of 
the  presbytery  of  Inverary,  it  appears  that  this 
“ branch  of  the  Campbell’s  ” were  long  settled 
in  that  part  of  the  Argyle  frontier,  which  lies 
between  Lochawe  and  Loclifyne,  bordered  by  the 
ducal  territory  of  Inverary. 

Archibald,  Lord  and  Knight  of  Lochawe,  was 
grandson  of  Sir  Neil,  chief  of  the  clan,  and  a 
contemporary  of  King  Robert  Bruce. 

This  Archibald  died  A.  D.  1360,  leaving  issue 
three  sons,  Tavis,  ancestor  of  Dunardrie,  and  Iver, 
from  whom  sprang  the  Gamjphells  of  Kirnan^  the 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


Xlll 


distinctive  name  of  Tver’s  descendants,  who,  during 
the  lapse  of  many  generations,  became  identified 
with  the  place  as  lairds  and  heritors  of  Kirnan  ; 
a race  who  could  show  their  descent  as  far  back 
as  Gilespic-le-Camile,  first  Norman  lord  of  Loch- 
awe.  The  poet’s  grandfather,  Archibald  Camp- 
bell, was  the  last  of  the  name  who  resided  on  the 
family  estate.  When  past  his  prime,  he  contract- 
ed marriage  with  Margaret  Stuart,  daughter  of 
Stuart  of  Ascog,  in  the  island  of  Bute,  then  the 
widow  of  John  McArthur  of  Milton. 

From  this  union  sprung  three  sons,  Robert, 
Archibald,  and  Alexander.  On  the  decease  of 
the  father,  who  died  in  the  Canongate  of  Edin- 
burgh, Robert  Campbell,  the  eldest  son,  appears  to 
have  taken  possession  of  the  family  estate  at  Kir- 
nan ; but,  after  a time,  through  the  exercise  of 
lavish  Highland  hospitality,  a love  of  military  dis- 
play, and  the  expenses  incidental  to  a large  esta- 
blishment, liabilities  were  incurred.  The  estate 
was  sold,  and  became  annexed  to  the  estate  of 
Milton,  the  proprietor  of  which  was  John  McAr- 
thur, his  half-brother,  son  of  Mrs.  Campbell  by 
her  first  marriage.  Robert  died  in  London,  after  • 
a chequered  career,  as  a political  writer,  under 
the  Walpole  administration.  Archibald,  the  next 
brother,  was  a D.D.  of  Edinburgh,  and  after  offi- 
ciating as  a Presbyterian  minister  in  Jamaica  for 
some  years,  finally  settled  abroad  in  the  State  of 
Virginia,  in  America,  where  he  and  his  family  be- 
came people  of  high  repute  and  importance ; and 
in  after  time  his  grandson,  Frederick  Campbell, 
through  failure  of  intermediate  heirs,  succeeded, 
under  an  entail  executed  in  1703,  to  the  estates 
of  Whitebarony,  in  Peebleshire,  Ascog  in  Bute, 
and  Kilfinnan  and  Kirnan  in  Argyleshire.  The 


XIV 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


youngest  brother,  Alexander  Campbell  (father  of 
the  poet),  was  born  in  1710,  and  was  educated 
with  a view  to  commerce.  In  the  earlv  part  of  his 
life  he  resided  at  Falmouth,  in  Virginia,  where, 
after  making  a fair  start,  he  entered  into  copart- 
nership with  Daniel  Campbell,  and  in  his  company 
returned  to  Scotland,  and  commenced  business  in 
the  Virginian  trade,  at  Glasgow,  under  the  firm  of 
‘‘Alexander  and  Daniel  Campbell.”  For  nearly 
forty  years  success  crowned  the  exertions  of  the 
firm ; it  rapidly  advanced  in  commercial  import- 
ance, and  bid  fair  to  distance  the  first  houses  in 
the  trade. 

The  differences  which  had  long  subsisted  be- 
tween Great  Britain,  the  mother  country,  and 
her  American  colonies,  and  which  in  the  year 
1775  ripened  into  open  war,  and  at  last  resulted 
in  the  declaration  of  independence  on  the  part  of 
the  States,  had,  for  some  time  before  the  actual 
outbreak,  operated  strongly  against  the  mercantile 
interest ; but  the  baneful  effect  of  the  unnatural 
contest  was  most  severely  felt  in  the  northern  ports 
particularly  in  Glasgow.  There,  firms  of  vast  re- 
sources and  credit,  one  by  one  gave  way,  under 
the  united  pressure  of  stagnation  in  trade,  and 
what  is  so  well  understood  on  change,  by  the  term 
tightness  of  the  money  market.  Campbell  & Co. 
suffered  severely  ; and  at  length  as  the  cloud  still 
hung  dark  over  their  future  prospects,  the  part- 
ners resolved  on  a dissolution,  and  general  wind- 
up. 

The  resolution,  having  been  deliberately  deter- 
mined upon,  was  carried  out  \tith  a firmness  worthy 
of  imitation  and  a better  fate;  and  at  length,  every 
jlaim  and  liability  having  been  first  liquidated,  the 
firm  ceased  to  exist. 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XV 


Mr.  A.  Campbell  retired  into  privacy  with  a 
Bhattered  income,  yet  competent  to  enable  him  to 
maintain  his  family  in  comfort  and  respectabi- 
lity, and  obtain  for  them  a liberal  education  ; and 
to  this  important  object  all  the  remaining  energies 
of  a matured  and  cultivated  intellect  were  direct- 
ed. It  was  fortunate  that  the  care  of  a numer- 
ous family  restrained  him  from  brooding  over  his 
losses,  that  a something  sufficiently  powerful  as  to 
engage  his  mind  still  existed  ; he  had  always  been 
used  to  an  active  life,  and  the  dangerous  tenden- 
cies of  want  of  occupation  and  overwhelming 
misfortunes  can  be  far  better  imagined  than  de- 
scribed. Mr.  Campbell  at  this  period  was  sixty- 
five  years  of  age,  strong,  hale,  and  hearty,  and, 
aided  by  the  consolation  of  religion,  even  resigned 
to  his  fate  ; his  family  circle  consisted  of  a wife 
and  ten  children,  the  eldest  of  whom  had  not  then 
completed  her  nineteenth  year;  labouring  then 
with  the  sad  memory  of  the  past,  and  the  doubt- 
ful prospect  of  his  own  and  his  childrens  future 
welfare,  for  ten  years  he  spared  no  pains  to  per- 
form his  duty  as  a father,  and  complete  to  the  full 
that  social  contract,  which  should  ever  be  felt  an 
imperative  and  mutual  duty  upon  parent  and 
offspring. 

Thus  the  autumn  of  life  glided  onwards,  but 
soon  came  winter,  stern  and  rugged,  for  a fresh 
misfortune  befell  him, — ^an  adverse  judgment  in  a 
chancery  suit : now  his  cup  of  misery  was  filled 
to  overflowing,  and  in  drinking  it  to  the  dregs 
the  old  man’s  heart  was  crushed  ; by  little  and 
little  the  fearful  reality  became  too  apparent  that 
the  costs  and  legal  expenses  entailed  by  the  fail- 
ure of  the  cause  would  leave  but  a wretched  pit- 
tance for  the  support  of  his  family  ; gradually  he 
B 


Xvi  BIOGRAPITXCAL  SKETCH 

became  unequal  to  mental  exertion, — an  iron  con- 
Btitution  carried  him  on  for  some  years,  yet  he 
could  scarcely  be  said  to  live,  and  at  length  he 
breathed  his  last  at  Edinburgh,  in  the  month  of 
March,  1801,  falling  to  the  earth  as  a shock  of 
corn  fully  ripe,  having  reached  the  patriarchal 
age  of  ninety-one  years,  and  dying  respected  and 
beloved  by  all  who  knew  him. 

Thomas  Campbell,  as  before  mentioned,  was 
born  at  Glasgow  the  27th  of  July,  1777,  being 
the  eighth  son,  and  the  youngest  of  eleven  child- 
ren. His  appearance  in  life  was  made  two  years 
after  his  father’s  retirement  from'  business,  and 
blighted  as  were  family  prospects  through  unde- 
served misfortunes,  yet  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell found  comfort  and  solace  in  their  youngest 
boy.  One  by  one  the  elder  ones  went  forth  to  seek 
their  fortunes  in  the  world;  and  as  the  number 
round  the  domestic  hearth  lessened,  the  last  comer 
seemed  almost  as  of  right  to  be  entitled  to  a 
warmer  corner,  and  if  possible  to  a more  jealous 
affection.  His  form  has  been  described  as  fragile 
and  his  constitution  delicate,  with  a pale  expres- 
sive countenance,  and  a gentleness  of  manner 
which  gained  insensibly  on  the  beholder.  Very 
early  his  parents  expressed  the  belief  that  genius 
sparkled  in  his  eye,  and  consequently  they  lost  no 
opportunity  of  improving  by  care  and  cultivation 
their  discovery.  Mrs.  Margaret  Campbell,  his 
mother,  had  a strong  taste  for  music,  and  from 
her  he  imbibed  a fondness  for  the  ballad  poetry 
of  Scotlandj  which  never  abandoned  him;  that 
lady,  even  in  the  wane  of  life,  loved  to  sing  the 
favourite  melodies  of  her  youth,  and  thus,  her  last 
born,  from  his  cradle  became  skilled  in  sweet  sounds 
and  the  power  of  flowing  numbers. 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL.  Xvii 

Until  his  eighth  year  he  was  grounded  in  his 
‘‘  rudiments  ” at  home,  when  (as  mentioned  in  his 
own  reminiscences)  he  was  confided  to  the  care 
of  David  Alison,  who  appears  to  have  been  a ripe 
scholar  and  a skilful  tutor  ; under  his  eye  Camp- 
bell showed  “ he  was  no  vulgar  boy  the  learned 
scholiast’s  experience  and  insight  into  character 
enabled  him  to  see  the  course  to  be  adopted  ; he 
fathomed  the  child’s  sensitive  disposition  ; “ he 
saw  he  was  alive  to  praise,  and  readily  daunted 
even  by  a look  of  sternness,” — the  fruits  of  cul- 
tivation soon  followed  : he  succeeded  in  obtaining 
the  post  of  honour  at  the  head  of  his  little  class, — 
all  parties  were  pleased, — the  master  commended 
his  pupil, — the  prizes,  taken  home,  commended 
him  to  his  parents  ; and  the  feeling  of  having 
done  his  duty  and  deserved  commendation,  to 
some  extent,  even  then,  brought  its  own  reward. 

Each  day  increased  his  ardour  and  strengthened 
his  exertions,  but  this  precocity  produced  physical 
debility  ; his  constitution,  naturally  delicate,  suf- 
fered under  study  and  sedentary  habits,  a serious 
illness  followed,  from  which  he  recovered  so  tar- 
dily that  change  of  scene  and  total  vacuity  from 
every  thing  like  mental  toil  was  deemed  imper- 
atively necessary.  Accordingly  a spot  (supposed 
to  be  the  place  already  alluded  to  under  the  name 
of  Pollock  Shaws)  was  selected,  where  he  was 
left  to  roam  in  green  fields,  taste  the  pure  country 
air,  and  pick  fiowers.  In  a very  few  weeks  the 
change  worked  wonders,  and  on  his  return  home 
he  seemed  altogether  another  creature  ; his  coun- 
tenance was  radiant  with  health  and  beauty,  and 
to  the  latest  period  of  his  life,  he  was  wont  to 
refer  with  pleasure  to  the  happiness  he  then 
mjoyed. 


xviii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


These  halcyon  days  of  freedom  and  tranquillity 
brought,  in  addition  to  renewed  health,  other  ad- 
vantages. Nature,  viewed  in  all  her  loveliness, 
under  a summer  sun,  aroused  his  mind  to  beauties 
previously  unknown  ; from  this  moment  he  awoke 
to  poetry,  and  his  very  first  attempt  at  verse  was 
written  upon  the  beauties  of  nature,  in  a “ Poem 
on  the  Seasons.” 

“ Oh  joyful  spring,  thy  cheerful  days  prolong 
(The  feathered  songsters  thus  begin  the  song) 

Lo ! smiling  May  doth  now  return  at  last, 

But  ah ! she  runs  along  too  fast. 

The  sultry  June  arrives.  May’s  pleasure’s  short; 

Yet  July  yields  some  fruit  for  cool  resort. 

Blest  Autumn  comes,  arrayed  in  golden  grain. 

And  bounteously  rewards  the  labouring  swain,”  &c. 

On  returning  to  the  grammar-school  in  Sep- 
tember, he  recommenced  study  with  readiness,  and 
made  such  rapid  progress  that,  before  he  had 
completed  his  twelfth  year,  he  had  read  through 
various  Greek  and  Latin  authors  and  poets,  and 
could  recite  at  length  many  of  their  most  brilliant 
passages. 

Now  appeared  the  first  dawn  of  that  enthusiasm 
which  strongly  developed  itself  in  after  years  on 
the  subject  of  Greek  poetry;  he  exhibited  so 
much  feeling  to  be  well  thought  of  in  this  depart- 
ment of  literature,  that  it  has  been  remarked  by 
his  intimate  friends  that  CampbelFs  ambition  was 
not  so  much  to  be  esteemed  a genuine  poet  as  a 
ripe  Greek  scholar;  and  so  skilful  was  he  in 
Greek  translations  rendered  into  English  verse, 
that,  prior  to  the  close  of  his  scholastic  career,  he 
had  not  only  gained  popularity  among  his  com- 
panions, encomiums  oftentimes  repeated  from  his 
master,  but  several  prizes  at  the  public  exa- 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XIX 


iiiination  of  the  School  by  the  Chief  Magis- 
trate.^ 

The  University  of  Glasgow  differs  from  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  particularly  in  this  respect  that 
it  has,  from  the  time  of  its  foundation  (shortly 
before  the  Reformation),  received  students  at  a 
very  early  age,  and  thus  it  hap[)ened  that  Camp- 
bell commenced  his  preparation  for  college  life 
before  he  had  completed  his  thirteenth  year. 
With  the  prospect  of  matriculation  at  hand,  for 
months  previous  to  the  actual  commencement  of 
the  October  session  he  was  engaged  in  a reperusal 
of  his  “ old  books,”  feeling  a laudable  desire  to  be 
prepared  for  “a  fair  start”  with  the  freshmen  of 
his  year.  Mr.  Alison  prophesied  distinction,  his 
family  expected  great  things,  and  he  determined 
to  aim  high,  and  realize,  if  possible,  their  fondest 
hopes.  This  may  seem  far-fetched  in  speaking 
of  a mere  child,  yet  it  will  be  remembered  that 
his  mind  was  cast  in  no  ordinary  mould,  and  his 
zeal  much  heightened  by  early  successes. 

In  the  October  term  of  1791  commenced  his 
novitiate  at  college,  and  here  the  effect  of  judicious 
training  at  school  quickly  manifested  itself.  Be- 
fore many  months  had  ela|)sed  he  had  gained  a 
position  in  the  Latin,  Greek,  and  Logic  classes, 
and,  before  he  had  completed  his  fourteenth  year, 
had  gained  from  the  college  authorities  a prize  for 
English  and  Latin  verse,  and  a still  more  substan- 
tial mark  of  approbation,  a bursary  or  exhibition 
on  Archbishop  Leighton’s  foundation.  This  boon 
was  not  awarded  without  reference  to  merit  and 
ability,  or  upon  the  ground  of  the  known  straitened 

* See  specimens  of  translations  from  Anacreon  at  the  age 
of  twelve'-  years, Beattie’s  Life  and  Letters  of  Campbell,” 
\rol.  i.  p.  36. 


XX 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


cireumstances  of  his  parents,  but  was  fairly  won 
after  an  examination  before  the  whole  hiculty  in 
construing  and  Latin  writing,  and  after  competi- 
tion with  a fellow  student  by  several  years  his 
senior.  The  result  of  the  first  session  was  satis- 
faclory,  yet  in  after  years  he  often  confessed  that 
he  was  much  more  inclined  to  sport  than  to  study, 
and  it  would  seem  that  what  he  accomplished  was 
not  always  the  result  of  patient  application  to 
books,  but  rather  of  that  natural  facility  wliich 
enabled  him  to  see  clearer  than  many  of  his  fellow 
undergraduates,  who  trusted  solely  to  unwearied 
attention  for  the  chance  of  distinction.  There 
can  be  no  question  that  the  colour  of  the  remain- 
der of  his  college  career  took  its  brightest  tinge 
.from  the  first  essay,  though  he  himself,  with  pleas- 
ing modesty,  speaks  in  the  following  terms  of  his 
academical  career: — ‘‘Some  of  my  biographers 
have,  in  their  friendly  zeal,  exaggerated  my  tri- 
umphs at  the  University.  It  is  not  true  that  I 
carried  away  all  the  prizes,  for  I was  idle  in  some 
of  the  classes,  and  being  obliged  by  my  necessities 
to  give  elementary  instruction  to  younger  lads, 
my  powers  of  attention  were  exhausted  in  teaching 
when  I ought  to  have  been  learning.”  Yet  the 
facts  are  in  his  favour  ; the  repeated  prizes  award- 
ed (many  of  them  now  in  existence)  speak  for 
themselves,  and  show  that  he  was  not,  in  the 
ordinary  acceptation  of  the  word,  idle ; probably 
he  placed  his  standard  so  high,  that,  failing  in  his 
own  judgment  to  reach  it,  this  induced  dispraise 
and  the  self-imputation  of  idleness. 

At  this  period  his  first  ballad,  entitled  “ Morven 
and  Filial!,”  was  printed  for  distribution  and  cir- 
culation amongst  his  friends  and  fellow- students 
it  comprise  ! one  hundred  and  forty  lines,  many 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XX] 


of  tliem  both  spirited  and  original.  The  following 
are  the  first  four  : — 

“ Loud  breathed  afar  the  angry  sprite 
That  rode  upon  the  storm  of  night, 

And  loud  the  waves  were  heard  to  roar, 

That  lashed  on  Morven’s  rocky  shore.” 

Campbeirs  second  year  at  the  University  (Ses- 
sions 1792  and  1793)  was  marked  by  fresh  indi- 
cations of  progress.  Professor  Jardine,  Lecturer 
in  the  Logic  class,  awarded  him  the  eightli  prize 
for  the  best  composition  on  various  subjects,  the 
third  prize  in  the  Greek  class  for  exemplary 
conduct,  and  further  paid  him  the  compliment  of 
appointing  him  examiner  of  the  exercises  sent 
in  by  the  members  of  the  Logic  class  ; but  the 
crowning  honour  of  the  year  was  reserved  for  the 
last  day  of  the  session,  the  1st  of  May,  when  his 
“ Poem  on  Description carried  away  the  palm 
against  a host  of  competitors.  This  production 
marks  the  progress  he  had  made  in  versification 
since  the  previous  autumn,  and  is  entitled  A 
Description  of  the  Distribution  of  Prizes  in  the 
Common  Hall  of  the  University  of  Glasgow,  on 
the  1st  of  May,  1793,”  — his  motto  was  ^aken 
from  Pope. 

“ Nor  fame  I slight,  nor  for  her  favour  call, 

She  comes  unlooked  for,  if  she  com^s  at  all.” 

For  some  weeks  after  the  commencement  of 
the  vacation,  Campbell  “ tried  his  hand  ” at  the 
law,  and  with  a view  of  adopting  it  as  a j)rofes- 
sion,  was  accommodated  with  a desk  and  seat  in 
the  office  of  his  relative,  Mr.  Alexander  Camp- 
bell, writer  to  the  Signet  of  Glasgow.  Here,  ac- 
cording to  the  approved  fashion  and  custom  of 
that  day  (happily,  now  in  a great  measure  ex- 


XXll 


BTOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


ploded),  he  commenced  the  study  of  jurispru- 
dence,— not  by  learning  principles,  but  groping 
in  the  dark  at  the  practice  ot  the  profession  by 
transcribing  “ drafts,  deeds,  abbreviating  plead- 
ings,” and  the  like  drudgery. 

This  mysterious  metliod  of  penetrating  the 
arcana  of  an  honourable  and  scientific  calling, 
operated  so  prejudicially  ^nat  before  autumn  he 
gave  up  all  thoughts  of  advancing  his  fortunes  by 
the  avenue  of  the  law,  and,  therefore,  relinquish- 
ing his  seat  in  the  office,  directed  his  mind  to 
more  congenial  pursuits — poetry,  classical  read- 
ing, and  preparation  for  the  ensuing  college  term. 

Among  the  miscellaneous  pieces  struck  off  in 
^ the  course  of  the  autumn  was  a brochure  suggest- 
ed by  the  enormities  of  the  French  Revolution — - 
the  subject  being  the  cruelties  inflicted  on.  the  ill- 
fated  Marie  Antoinette,  Queen  of  France.  This 
effusion  excited  the  sympathy  of  many  who  read 
it,  and  was  deemed  worth  insertion  in  the  “ Poet's 
Corner  ”of  the  leading  journal  of  Glasgow. 

In  the  course  of  his  third  year  at  the  Univer- 
sity (1793-4),  in  addition  to  a debating  society 
into  which  Campbell  had  been  previously  enroll- 
ed, whereat  he  was  a popular  orator,  and  to  which 
belonged  nearly  all  his  principal  contemporaries, 
there  was  another,  called  the  “ Discursive,”  of 
which  he  himself  has  thus  written  : ‘‘  There  was, 
moreover,  a debating  society,  called  the  Discur- 
sive, composed  almost  entirely  of  boys  as  young 
as  myself,  and  I was  infatuated  enough  to  become 
a leader  in  this  spouting  club.  It  is  true,  that 
we  had  promising  spirits  among  us,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, could  boast  of  Gregory  Watt,  son  of  the 
immortal  Watt,  a youth  un[)aralleled  in  his  early 
talent  for  eloquence.  With  melodious  elocution, 


OF  TIIOXAS  CAMPBFLL. 


XXI 11 


great  acuteness  in  argument,  and  rich  unfailing 
fluent/  of  diction,  he  seemed  born  to  become  a 
great  orator,  and  I have  no  doubt  would  have 
shone  in  Parliament,  had  he  not  been  carried  off 
by  consumption  in  his  five-and-twentieth  year. 
He  was  literally  the  most  beautiful  youth  I ever 
saw.  When  he  was  only  twenty-two,  an  eminent 
English  artist  (tloward,  I think)  made  his  head 
the  model  of  a picture  of  Adam.  But  though 
we  had  this  splendid  stripling,  and  other  mem 
bers  that  were  not  untalented,  we  had  no  head 
among  us  old  and  judicious  enough  to  make  the 
society  a palcestra  for  our  mental  powers, 

and  it  degenerated  into  a place  of  general  quizzing 
and  eccentricity.” 

In  the  spring  of  1794,  Campbell,  in  consideration 
of  good  conduct,  obtained  a few  days’  leave  of 
absence  from  his  “ Alma  Mater,”  and  visited 
Edinburgh  to  witness  the  trial  of  Joseph  Gerrald 
and  others  (the  Scottish  Reformers)  charged  with 
the  crime  of  sedition.  To  him,  all  the  proceed- 
ings were  novel : it  was  his  first  visit  to  the  Parlia- 
ment House,  and  the  scene  he  there  beheld  made 
so  powerful  an  impression  upon  his  mind,  that  the 
lapse  of  years  could  not  efface  its  vivid  recollec- 
tion. Various  circumstances  conspired  to  pro- 
duce this  : intense  political  excitement  reigned  at 
the  time,  crowds  thronged  the  court,  the  bearing 
of  the  prisoners  was  touching  ; Gerrald’s  demean- 
our, in  particular,  was  very  bold  and  determined ; 
his  appeal  to  the  court  and  jury  was  eloquent; 
and  when  the  case  terminated  with  the  conviction 
of  the  accused  and  their  sentence  to  trans[»orta- 
tion,  he  left  the  court  all  glowing  in  the  cause  of 
freedom,  and  full  of  sympathy  with  ^hose  he 
deemed  oppressed.  With  feelings  wrought  to  the 


XXIV 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


highest  pi  toil,  he  returned  to  college  a graver,  if 
not  a wiser,  3'Oiith — determined  to  devote  all  his 
powers  to  the  pursuit  of  learning,  in  order  to  aid 
the  better  in  the  emancipation  of  his  family  from 
their  impoverished  condition.  Hitherto  he  had 
been  one  of  “ the  gayest  of  the  gay,”  in  vacation- 
time, and  had  joined,  with  that  ardour  which  is 
usually  the  companion  of  sanguine  temperaments, 
in  the  sports  and  amusements  of  youth.  Now, 
these  were  at  once  and  for  ever  laid  aside, — his 
characteristic  wit  and  sprightliness  for  a time 
seemed  gone,  and,  in  their  place,  appeared  the 
gravity  and  subdued  bearing  of  “ a reverend  se- 
nior.” He  read  with  avidity  the  newspapers,  and 
particularly  the  journals  supposed  to  have  a 
liberal  bias  ; in  fact  many  of  the  works  he  greed- 
ily perused  had  been  previously  unheard  of  and 
unknown  to  him.  At  the  debating  society,  he 
commented  in  glowing  language  upon  the  “ ani- 
mus ” which  pervaded  the  political  trials  of  the 
day,  pased  severe  strictures  on  the  corru[)t  state 
of  modern  legislation,  sighed  over  the  departed 
glories  of  Athens  and  Sparta,  and,  in  private, 
appeared  as  though  he  had  sustained  some  severe 
personal  wrong  which  he  could  not  forgive  with- 
out some  manifestation  of  feeling  or  retaliation. 
Raillery  in  plenty  he  met  with  ; yet  this  he  bore 
with  the  heroism  of  a martyr  ; and  it  was,  at  last. 
Time  alone  that  healed  the  wound,  and  enabled 
him  to  dismount  from  his  stilts  and  recover  his 
composure. 

At  the  termination  of  the  third  session,  he  came 
in  again  for  honours.  In  the  Moral  Philosophy 
class  he  received  a prize  for  his  poetical  essay  on 
the  Origin  of  Evil.  In  the  Greek  class  he  gain- 
ed the  first  prize  for  the  best  translation  of  pas- 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XXV 


sages  from  the  Clouds  of  Aristophanes.  In 
reference  to  these  pleasing  incidents  he  has  left 
the  following:  — “Professor  Young  pronounced 
my  version,  in  his  opinion,  the  best  essay  that  had 
ever  been  given  in  by  any  student  at  the  Univer- 
sity.” This  was  no  small  praise  to  a boy  of  fif- 
teen, from  John  Young,  who,  with  the  exception 
of  Miller,  was  the  ablest  man  in  the  college. 

One  day,  shortly  before  the  close  of  this  ses- 
sion, while  Professor  Arthur,  of  the  Moral  Phi- 
losophy Chair,  was  showing  the  University  to  an 
English  gentleman,  who  had  come  into  the  class- 
room, the  poet  says, — “ I happened  to  be  stand- 
ing unobserved  behind  him,  and  could  hear 
distinctly  the  conversation  that  passed  between 
them.  ‘ And  is  there  any  one  among  your  stu- 
dents,’ inquired  the  stranger,  ‘ who  shows  a talent 
for  poetry?’  ‘ Yes,’  said  the  Professor,  ‘there  is 
one,  Cam{)bell,  who  shows  a very  promising  talent.’ 
Little  knew  the  Professor  that  I was  listening  to 
this  question  and  answer.  In  explanation  of  tliis 
talent,’  1 had  written  in  Arthur’s  class  a verse 
issay  on  the  Origin  of  Evil,  for  which  1 after- 
wai'ds  received  the  prize,  and  which  gave  me  a 
local  celebrity  throughout  all  Glasgow,  from  the 
High  Church  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  Salt- 
market!  It  was  even  talked  of,  as  I am  credibly 
nfbrmed,  by  the  students  over  their  oysters  at 
Lucky  M’Alpine’s,  in  the  Trongate!” 

At  this  period,  in  addition  to  Campbell’s  labours 
on  his  own  account,  were  added  those  ol‘  tuition  ; 
for  thus  early  he  was  employed,  on  the  recom- 
mendation of  some  of  the  college  authorities,  as 
private  tutor  to  several  of  his  fellow-students. 

From  the  period  of  gaining  the  last-mentioned 
prizes  may  be  dated  constantly  increasing  mani- 


xxvi 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


festations  of  esteem  and  good-will  from  the  “ Pro- 
fessors ” and  his  fellow-students.  By  the  latter 
his  talents  had  been  already  appreciated.  Now  the 
high  opinion  entertained  by  them  was  more  openly 
acknowledged ; his  opinion  was  asked  on  diffi- 
cult and  abstruse  readings,  his  style  of  composi- 
tion imitated,  and  envy^  if  she  existed  at  all  in  the 
breasts  of  any  of  his  contemporaries,  seemed  dis- 
armed of  her  string  ; his  sympathies  were  heart 
and  soul  with  his  companions,  and  there  was  la- 
vished upon  him  all  the  warmth  and  affection  of 
generous  hearts  unscathed  by  misfortunes,  in  no 
degree  hardened  by  contact  with  the  world. 

At  this  time  he  believed  (and  he  luxuriated  in 
the  thought)  that  all  difficulties  could  be  sur- 
mounted by  industry  and  perseverance ; and  strong 
in  this  reliance  he  directed  his  mind  to  the  study 
of  the  Old  Testament  in  the  original  Hebrew,  and 
to  the  works  of  the  best  commentators  and  wri- 
ters on  ecclesiastical  history,  experiencing  then 
a desire  to  make  the  Church  his  future  call- 
ing. One  of  the  first  results  of  this  theological 
train  of  thought  was  his  well-known  “ Hymn  on 
the  Advent  of  Christ,”  which  may  be  found  in 
most  compilations  of  sacred  poetry.  Yet  at  this 
time  he  was  fully  alive  to  the  low  ebb  of  his  fa- 
mily fortunes  ; that  Kirnan,  “ the  home  of  his 
forefathers,”  was  “ roofless  and  wild ; ” and  fur- 
ther, that  without  interest,  preferment  in  the  cle- 
rical profession  might  be  very  tardy  in  rewarding 
labours,  though  undertaken  with  the  purest  mo- 
tives. This,  and  no  foolish  vacillation  or  love  for 
change,  compelled  him  to  watch  events,  and  en- 
deavour to  strike  out  a path  not  merely  congenial 
to  his  wishes,  but  capable  of  affording  a suffi- 
ciency for  the  supply  of  his  necessary  wants. 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XXVll 


About  this  time  he  went  so  far  as  to  attend 
certain  medical  lectures,  but  unfortunately  being 
too  hastily  introduced  into  the  operating  room, 
and  there  witnessing  a succession  of  “ casualties,’’ 
amputations,  and  the  thousand  other  “ ills  that 
flesh  is  heir  to,”  he  contracted  so  strong  a re- 
])ugnance  to  surgical  ‘‘  operations,”  that  he  could 
not  bring  his  mind  to  renew  his  visits  either  to 
the  demonstrator’s  apartment,  or  the  wards  of  the 
hospital. 

In  the  session  of  1794  and  1795  (his  fourth  year 
at  college),  honours  still  attended  him,  yet  his 
brightest  hours  were  haunted  by  the  knowledge 
that  his  father’s  slender  income  had  become  still 
more  limited  by  the  failure  of  the  chancery  suit. 
Young  as  Campbell  was,  he  determined  to  make 
some  effort  to  smooth  the  declining  days  of  his 
venerable  sire.  He  therefore  eageidy  sought  for 
something  which  might  aid  in  this  labour  of  love  ; 
and  through  the  patronage  of  the  College  Profes- 
sors, willingly  exercised,  he  became  tutor  to  the 
children  of  Mrs.  Campbell,  of  Sunipol,  in  the 
Hebrides  (a  distant  relative),  from  the  month  of 
May  to  the  ensuing  October,  when  it  was  arranged 
that  he  should  return  home,  and  resume  his 
academic  studies. 

Prelirninai’ies  having  been  settled  he  started 
(on  the  18th  of  May,  1795)  with  his  friend  and 
class-fellow  the  late  Rev.  Josej)h  Finlayson, 
D.  D.)  who  was  about  to  pass  the  vacation  in  the 
same  mode  as  himself.  The  young  travellers 
took  the  road  to  Inverary,  and  after  a journey  full 
of  incident,  the  wild  shores  of  Mull  broke  upon 
their  sight.  At  lirst  Campbell  acutely  felt  the 
loneliness  of  his  situation,  but  soon  became  recon- 
ciled, for  the  country,  though  bleak  and  wild,  was 


XXVlll 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


peculiarly  romantic,  and  nourished  the  poetry  in 
bis  soul. 

In  the  autumn  he  returned  to  Glasgow,  with  a 
mind  enlarged  by  the  realization  of  objects  at  that 
time  little  visited.  Staffa  and  Icolmkill,  and  the 
venerable  ruins  of  Iona,  these  and  other  wonders 
filled  his  mind  with  sensations  hitherto  unknown. 
The  return  journey  occupied  himself  and  friend 
(Finlayson)  four  days,  and  was  performed  in  bad 
weather.  Between  Oban  and  Lochawe  Side  the 
travellers  were  benighted,  and  losing  their  way, 
were  forced  to  bivouac  for  the  night  on  the  lee- 
side  of  a bare  wall,  without  any  other  covering 
than  their  Highland  plaids. 

In  Campbell’s  fifth  and  last  session  at  College 
(1795  and  1796)  it  was  his  good  fortune,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  pecuniary  emolument  realized  by  tui- 
tion, to  gain  two  prize  poems,  one  for  the  Choe- 
phoraB  of  ^schylus,  and  the  other  for  a Chorus 
in  the  Medea  of  Euripides.  Among  his  pupils  at 
this  time  was  one  of  the  present  Lords  of  Session, 
Lord  Cuninghame,  of  whom  the  poet  has  left  the 
following  reminiscence  : — “After  my  return  from 
Mull,  1 supported  myself  during  the  winter  by 
private  tuition.  Among  other  scholars,  1 had  a 
youth  named  Cuninghame,  who  is  now  Lord 
Cuninghame,  in  the  Justiciary  Court  of  Edin- 
burgh. Grave  as  he  is  now,  he  was,  when  I 
taught  him  Xenophon  and  Lucian,  a fine,  laugh- 
ing, open-hearted  boy,  and  so  near  my  own  age, 
that  we  were  rather  like  playfellows  than  precep- 
tor and  pupil.  Sometimes,  indeed,  I used  to  be- 
labour him — jocosely  alleging  my  sacred  duty  as 
a tutor — but  I seldom  succeeded  in  suppressing 
his  risibility.” 

During  his  last  year  at  College,  Campbell’s 


OF  THOMAS  CA3IPBELL. 


XXIX 


minu  largely  expanded,  and  in  after  years  he 
referrt^d  with  especial  pleasure  to  the  benefit  he 
dei'ived  from  the  lectures  of  Professor  Miller  on 
the  Roman  Law,  and  his  explanations  of  Heinec- 
cius. 

At  length,  academic  studies  completed,  days 
gilded  by  success  and  honours,  the  future  broke 
in  upon  him  dark  and  stern,  and,  compelled  to  act 
with  promptitude,  he  entered  General  Napier’s 
family  as  tutor  to  the  present  Sir  William  Napier, 
of  Milliken,  Argyleshire,  where  he  continued 
until  the  end  of  March,  1797,  when  he  re-visited 
Glasgow,  carrying  with  him  the  respect  and  es- 
teem of  all  with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted. 
The  General  himself  felt  so  strong  an  interest  in 
his  welfare  that  he  expended  much  time  and 
trouble  to  smooth  the  way  for  his  going  to  the 
bar ; but  the  want  of  the  necessary  pecuniary 
advances  from  protege's  friends  rendered  his 
efforts  abortive. 

The  disappointment  occasioned  by  blighted 
hope  was  acutely  felt;  the  apathy  of  family  con- 
nections, who  might  have  materially  aided  his 
onward  progress,  was  ‘‘  gall  and  wormwood 
many  of  his  connections  warmly  a[)plauded  his 
talents,  but  any  thing  further  than  barren  praise 
seemed  quite  foreign  to  their  views;  the  effect  of 
hope  deferred  was  in  this  case  truly  to  make  the 
bean  sick ; a raging  fever  supervened ; youth, 
however,  befriended  him — he  slowly  recovered, 
and  happily  his  sufferings  were  productive  of  this 
beneficial  result — they  engendered  calmness  and 
resignation,  and  he  was  enabled  at  length  to  gaze 
upon  the  future,  barren  and  cheerless  as  it  was, 
with  a steady  eye.  The  next  effort  to  better  him- 
self was  a journey  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  ob- 


XXX 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


tained  an  introduction  to  Dr.  Robert  AndersoRj 
who,  at  first  siglit,  pleased  with  his  appearance 
and  conversation,  recognized  a kindred  spirit, 
soothed  and  cherished  him,  and  in  a few  days 
recommended  him  as  a young  gentleman  of  great 
promise  to  Mr.  Mundell,  deceased,  the  publisher, 
who  at  once  employed  him  to  compile  an  abridg- 
ment of  Bryan  Edwards’s  West  Indies  ; this  he 
gladly  accepted,  and  when  the  task  was  completed, 
other  literary  work  was  provided,  yet  the  remun- 
eration for  this  compilatory  writing  was  so  scanty 
as  to  do  little  more  than  provide  the  bare  neces- 
saries of  life,  and  this  compelled  Campbell,  against 
his  inclination,  to  recommence  teaching,  and  then 
he  found  his  recommendations  to  Professor  Dalzell 
of  essential  service,  through  whose  assistance  he 
obtained  pupils,  by  whom  he  was  remunerated 
upon  a liberal  scale. 

In  this  way,  for  some  time,  he  made  a comfort- 
able livelihood,  but  at  last,  as  his  pupils  finished 
their  course  of  study,  he  took  no  pains  to  recruit 
the  vacancies  in  his  class,  but  directed  his  mind 
(for  he  would  be  an  author)  to  original  composi- 
tion. The  subject  he  at  length  fixed  upon  was, 
“ The  Pleasures  of  Hope,”  a theme  suggested  in 
part  at  least  by  Rogers’s  Pleasures  of  Memory,” 
and  in  part,  while  melancholy  and  lonely  on  the 
wild  shores  of  Mull,  by  his  friend  Mr.  Hamilton 
Paul. 

In  writing  of  these  early  days,  Campbell  says, 
“And  now  I lived  in  the  Scottish  metropolis  by 
instructing  pupils  in  Greek  and  Latin.  In  this 
vocation  I made  a comfortable  livelihood,  as  long 
as  I was  industrious.  But  ‘ The  Pleasures  of 
Hope  ’ came  over  me.  I took  long  walks  about 
Arthur’s  Seat,  conning  over  my  own  (as  I thought 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XXXI 


them)  magnificent  lines ; and  as  my  ‘ Pleasures 
of  Hope  ’ got  on,  my  pupils  fell  off.  I was  not 
friendless,  nor  quite  solitary  at  this  period  in  Edin- 
burgh. My  aunt,  Mrs.  Campbell,  and  her  beauti- 
ful daughter  Margaret — so  beautiful  that  she  was 
commonly  called  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots — used  to 
receive  me  kindly  of  an  evening,  whenever  I 
called ; and  it  was  to  them — and  with  no  small 
encouragement — that  I first  recited  my  poem 
when  it  was  finished.’’ — “ I had  other  friends  also 
whose  attachment  was  a solace  to  my  life.  Before 
I became  known  as  an  author,  I was  intimate 
with  Francis  Jeffrey,  and  with  Thomas  Brown, 
afterwards  the  successor  of  Dugald  Stewart  in 
the  Moral  Philosophy  Chair  of  Edinburgh.  I 
was  also  acquainted  with  Dr.  Anderson,  author 
of  ‘ The  Lives  of  the  British  Poets.’  ” 

For  a short  time  Campbell  was  absent  from 
the  Scottish  metropolis,  on  a visit  to  Glasgow ; 
on  his  return,  having  shown  “ The  Pleasures  of 
Hope  ” to  some  confidential  friends,  they  suggested 
its  immediate  publication.  But  how  ? This  was 
the  question.  At  first  it  was  proposed  to  publish 
by  subscription,  and  the  patronage  of  liis  own  and 
the  sister  University  of  Edinburgh  was  promised; 
yet,  after  calculation  of  the  probable  expenses  of 
printing  and  publishing,  it  seemed  doubtful  if  the 
author  would  reap  much  substantial  reward,  and 
consequently  he  was  advised  to  sell  to  the  book- 
sellers the  copyright  of  his  work. 

With  this  in  view.  Dr.  Anderson  waited  upon 
Mr.  Mundell,  (the  only  publisher  with  whom 
Campbell  had,  up  to  this  time,  realized  any  profit- 
able connection,)  and  entered  with  him  upon  the 
merits  of  the  Poem;  and  after  the  matter  had 
been  well  weighed,  considered,  and  reconsidered, 
C 


JwXXll 


BTOaHAPIIICAL  SKETCH 


Mr  Mundc‘ll  offered  for  the  copyright,  Sixty 
Pounds^  which  the  author  was  fain  to  accept. 

Some  time  before  the  work  actually  appeared, 
it  was  announced  “ in  the  press ; ” and  both  sub- 
ject and  author  afforded  matter  for  speculation  and 
conversation  in  the  literary  world.  Some  parties 
had  already  seen  the  manuscript,  or  parts  of  it, 
and  these  all  spoke  in  favour  of  the  production, 
so  that  the  writer  found  his  circle  of  acquaintance 
daily  extending.  On  the  27th  of  April,  1799, 

The  Pleasures  of  Hope  ’’  appeared  for  the  first 
time,  its  author  being  at  that  time  just  twenty-one 
years  and  nine  months  old.  It  fully  equalled  the 
expectations  previously  formed  of  it ; the  topics 
worked  out  in  realizing  the  subject  were  the  very 
matters  at  the  time  before  the  public, — the  great 
Revolution  in  France — the  Partition  of  Poland — ■ 
the  question  of  the  Abolition  of  Negro  Slavery — 
all  these  the  writer  had  by  a plastic  hand  made 
completely  his  own.  Few  generous  minds  failed 
to  experience  delight  on  reading  Campbell’s  glow- 
ing language  and  rich  imagery. 

Madame  de  Stael  was  one  of  the  foremost  of 
the  eminent  literary  characters  of  the  day,  who 
expressed  her  admiration  of  this  poem.  Some 
time  afterwards,  she  told  Campbell  that  she  had 
been  so  captivated  with  the  episode  (Conrad  and 
Ellenore),  that  she  could  read  it  twenty  times  over 
without  lessening  the  effect  which  the  first  peru- 
sal had  awakened  in  her  mind.^  The  addition 

* '‘’‘Stockholm^  ce  5 Janvier^  1813. 

“A  M.  Thomas  Campbell. 

“ Pciuhiiit  les  dix  aniiees  que  m’ayent  s4par4  de  1’ Angle- 
terre,  Monsieur,  le  l^deme  anglais  qui  m’a  caus4  le  plus 
d’  Emotion — la  pdeme  qui  ne  me  quittait  jamais — et  que  je  reli* 
sai  sans  cesse  pour  adoucir  mes  chagrins  par  I’^ldvation  de 


OF  THO:iIAS  CAMPBELL. 


xxxiii 


of  " The  Pleasures  of  Hope  ” to  British  poesy 
soon  became  widely  known,  and  few  were  the  po- 
litical reunions,  on  the  liberal  side  at  least,  where 
some  quotations  were  not  made,  from  language 
which  marked  a generous  heart  and  an  ardent 
lov^e  of  liberty. 

Every  line  in  this  work  is  now  as  familiar  in 
our  mouths  as  household  words,”  yet  it  can  be 
comprehended  with  what  eagerness  such  strains 
as  the  following  must  have  been  caught  up,  and 
reechoed  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  land ; — 

“ Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead, 

Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled, 

Friends  of  the  world ! restore  your  swords  to  man, 

Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van.” 

In  a second  edition  (which  was  speedily  followed 
by  several  others)  new  passages  were  felicitously 
introduced,  particularly  one  descriptive  of  the  dis- 
solution of  the  body,  and  the  flight  of  the  soul  to 
its  original  source ; these  served  to  cement  the 
more  closely  the  fabric  already  erected.  Some 
smaller  poems,  the  “ Harper,”  ‘‘  Gilderoy,”  and 
others,  meeting  with  a favourable  reception  from 
the  public,  inspired  their  author  with  fresh  coiv 
rage  and  energy. 

Various  shadowy  castles  now  floated  through 
the  poet’s  brain,  but  the  bent  of  his  inclination,  in 
the  spring  of  the  year  1 800,  led  him  to  celebrate 
the  achievements  of  Scotia’s  mighty  dead,  in  her 
struggles  for  independence  and  liberty  ; the  work 

.’ame,  c’est  Les  Phiisirs  de  I’Esperance.  L’ Episode  d’Ellenore 
Burtout,  allait  tellement  a mon  coeur  que  je  pourrais  la  relire 
nngt  fois,  sans  en  aflfaiblir  I’impression.  . ... 

Bako^ke  de  Stael,  EoUteiTL*' 


XXXIV 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


was  to  have  been  called  the  “ Queen  of  the 
North/’  and  to  enable  him  to  collect  materiel,  he 
pro})osed  making  a personal  visit  to  the  Conti- 
nent, for  it  was  men  as  well  as  their  writings  he 
would  converse  with.  Having  arranged  preli- 
minaries, and  being  armed  with  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  gentlemen  eminent  in  various  depart- 
ments, he  set  sail  for  Leith,  bound  for  Hamburg, 
on  the  1st  of  June,  1800  (being  accompanied  to 
the  vessel  by  Mr.  Richardson,  and  his  old  pupil 
Mr.  Cuninghame).  After  a protracted  voyage 
of  several  days,  he  reached  the  port  of  Hamburg 
in  safety,  where  he  was  received  by  the  British 
residents  with  great  kindness.  In  some  instances 
fame  had  already  preceded  him  ; in  other  cases  his 
letters  of  introduction  obtained  all  he  desired.  To 
his  new  friends  he  frankly  stated  the  object  of  his 
visit,  and  acting  upon  their  suggestions,  he  remain- 
ed in  the  port  of  disembarcation  for  some  time,  in 
order  to  gain  a more  accurate  knowledge  of  Ger- 
man, and  a greater  facility  in  its  dialogue,  than  he 
had  previously  attained.  At  this  period  the  fever 
of  politics  ran  high  both  at  home  and  abroad,  and 
Campbell,  dissuaded  from  prosecuting  his  original 
plan  of  visiting  Gottingen,  Jena,  and  Weimar, 
yielded  to  the  counsel  of  those  who  advised  him, 
on  the  expiration  of  his  sojourn  at  Hamburg,  to 
proceed  to  Ratisbon,  place  himself  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  venerable  President  of  the  Scotch 
College  (Arbuthnot),  and  there  in  freedom  from 
interruption,  having  enjoyed  facility  for  study, 
afterwards  in  security  sail  down  the  Danube  to 
Vienna.  After  a stay  of  some  nine  or  ten  weeks, 
Campbell  set  out  for  Ratisbon,  where  he  arrived 
three  days  only  before  it  was  taken  by  the  French; 
happily  for  him  he  gained  a sanctuary  in  time,  and 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


XXXV 


>vas,  on  his  arrival,  most  kindly  received  by  his 
compatriots — the  monks  of  the  Benedictine  Col- 
le<]^e,  from  whose  walls  he  beheld  sights  of  horror 
which  nothing  could  obliterate  from  his  recollec- 
tion. His  hrst  introduction  to  the  miseries  of  war 
was  in  com[)any  with  his  new  acquaintances  ; from 
their  hospice  he  beheld  a charge  of  Kiennan's 
cavalry  upon  the  French  under  Grenier — he  saw 
the  fire  given  and  returned,  and  heard  distinctly 
the  sound  of  the  French  p as-de-char g e 
the  lines  to  attack  in  close  column,  then  a park  of 
artillery  opened  just  beneath  the  walls  of  the 
monastery,  and  several  drivers  there  stationed 
to  convey  the  wounded  in  spring  wagons,  were 
killed  in  his  sight.  Campbell  thus  referred  to  the 
sad  scene  : — “ This  formed  the  most  important 
epoch  of  my  life  in  point  of  impressions,  but  these 
impressions  of  seeing  numbers  of  men  strewed 
dead  on  the  field,  or  what  was  worse,  seeing  them 
in  the  act  of  dying,  were  so  horrible  to  my  me- 
mory, that  I studied  to  banish  them.  At  times, 
when  1 have  been  fevered  and  ill,  I have  awoke 
from  nightmare,  dreaming  about  these  dreadful 
images.” 

Campbell  was  detained  in  Ratisbon  longer  than 
he  anticipated,  and  these  scenes  of  strife  and  blood- 
shed were  by  no  means  conducive  to  quiet  and 
steady  reading ; his  mind  also  was  harassed  by 
uncertainty  concerning  the  future  ; great  difficulty 
existed  in  keeping  up  a communication  with  Great 
Britain  ; two  armies  were  present  in  the  country; 
vhere  was  a probability  of  long  protracted  war. 
These  things  produced  no  small  depression  of 
spirits.  Some  absurb  rumours  also  were  afloat, 
that  his  visit  to  the  Continent  (made  at  such  a 
3risis)  was  for  a political  purpose — in  other  words, 


xxxvi 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


he  was  suspected  of  being  a spy  : thus  his  state 
of  suspense  was  increased  by  the  fear  that,  even 
if  war  ceased,  and  the  French  dragoons  were  with- 
drawn, he  might  be  detained  a prisoner.  These 
things,  in  combination,  served  to  excite  him  and 
to  induce  great  discomfort.  At  length,  after 
many  days  of  doubt,  during  which  he  was  cabin- 
ed ” within  the  walls  of  Ratisbon  (though  it  seems 
he  did  avail  himself  of  an  armistice,  and  pene- 
trate as  far  as  Munich),  he  obtained  his  passports, 
and,  in  the  month  of  November,  via  Leipsic, 
returned  to  Hamburg,  whence  he  proceeded  to 
Altona,  and  passed  the  winter  in  study  and  re- 
tirement. To  the  reading  of  Kant’s  Philosophy 
many  successive  weeks  were  devoted,  varied,  for 
the  sake  of  relaxation,  by  the  perusal  of  the 
works  of  Schiller,  Wieland,  and  Burger,  and  oc- 
casional pedestrian  excursions  into  the  neighbour- 
ing country.  Here  he  composed  or  revised  for 
publication  fourteen  small  pieces,  which  appeared 
successively  in  the  “ Morning  Chronicle  ; ” of  these, 
only  four  have  been  preserved  amongst  his  print- 
ed poems.  As  the  winter  drew  to  a close,  and 
while  in  actual  correspondence  with  a friend,  touch- 
ing a grand  tour  through  Hungary  and  Turkey,  the 
real  state  of  matters  on  the  Continent  appeared.  In 
a moment  the  crisis  came.  Great  Britain,  fearing 
a strong  coalition  against  her,  took  measures  to  pre- 
vent it;  and,  on  the  12th  of  March,  her  fleet  ap- 
peared in  the  Sound,  ready  for  any  demonstration. 
This  arrival  produced  great  excitement  amongst 
the  English  residents  at  Altona,  and  was  increased 
materially  by  the  fact  of  the  town  being  situate 
on  the  Danish  shore.  It  required  no  prophet  or_ 
herald  to  warn  foreigners  that  Altona  was  no 
place  of  safVity  for  them.  Campbell  himself  con- 


OF  THOMAS  CAJVIPBELL.  XXXvii 

V'incp.d  of  the  necessity  of  retiring  from  the  scene, 
prepared  to  follow  the  example  of  such  of  the 
British  subjects  as  were  able  to  leave,  and,  accord- 
ingly, he  secured  a passage  for  Leith  in  a vessel 
called  the  Royal  George.  When  the  ship  raised 
anchors  and  dropped  down  the  river,  she  became 
an  object  of  intense  interest  to  many  bystanders: 
some  mourned  that  they  had  no  homes  to  flee  to; 
othei’s  felt  deep  uncertainty  touching  the  events 
of  a single  day — whether  famine,  incarceration,  or 
death.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe,  the  Royal 
George  was  detained  several  days  by  adverse 
winds  ; and  when,  at  last,  they  became  favour- 
able, much  to  the  disappointment'  of  the  passen- 
gers, signal  was  given  by  the  convoy  to  sail  for 
Yarmouth  Roads,  instead  of  Leith,  for  the  reason 
that  most  of  the  ships  convoyed  were  English. 

After  a wearisome  passage,  and  a narrow  escape 
from  a Danish  privateer,  who  chased  the  ship 
almost  into  port,  Campbell  arrived  at  Yarmouth, 
and  proceeded  in  the  mail  to  London,  where  he 
was  most  cordially  welcomed  by  Mr.  Perry,  of 
the  “ Morning  Chronicle,”  who  declared,  warmly, 
‘‘I  will  be  your  friend;  I will  be  all  that  you 
could  wish  me  to  be!”  And  nobly  did  he  fulfil 
his  promise  : he  took  his  protege  by  the  hand, 
encouraged  him,  and  circulated  the  news  of  his 
arrival ; so  that,  in  a few  days,  under  the  patron- 
age of  Lord  Holland,  he  was  at  once  introduced 
to  some  of  the  most  eminent  literary  characters 
of  the  time. 

On  the  poet’s  first  dehut  into  London  life,  and 
within  a fortnight  after  his  arrival  1‘rom  the  Con- 
tinent, intelligence  reached  him,  through  Dr. 
Anderson,  of  the  death  of  his  father.  This  event, 
for  a time,  destroyed  the  will  and  the  power  of 


xxxviii 


BIOGRAPniCAL  SKETCH 


enjoying  the  brilliant  society  into  which  he  had 
been  received,  and  actuated  by  feelings  of  sym- 
pathy and  affection,  he  promptly  proceeded  to 
Edinburgh  to  console  and  comfort  his  mother. 
He  performed  the  journey  by  sea ; and  during  the 
voyage,  one  of  his  fellow  passengers,  a lady,  in- 
formed him  “ that  the  author  of  the  ‘ Pleasures 
of  Hope  ’ had  been  arrested  in  London  for  high 
treason  and  sent  to  the  Tower.”  Amazed  at  the 
suggestion  of  his  treason,  no  sooner  had  he  seen 
his  mother,  and  comforted  her  to  the  best  of  his 
ability,  than  he  found  some  enemy  had  been  at 
work — there  was  truth  in  the  alleged  rumor  of 
his  treasonable  practices.  Desirous  to  refute  the 
calumny  as  speedily  as  possible,  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding his  arrival,  he  waited  upon  the  sheriff  of 
Edinburgh,  who  at  once  expressed  regret  at  his 
presence,  saying,  “ There  is  a warrant  out  against 
you  for  high  treason.  It  seems  that  you  have 
been  conspiring  with  General  Moreau  in  Austria, 
and  with  the  Irish  at  Hamburg  to  get  a French 
army  landed  in  Ireland,  but  I know  there  is  a 
general  unwillingness  among  those  in  power  to 
punish  your  error,  so  take  my  advice  and  do  not 
press  yourself  on  my  notice.”  Campbell  urged 
upon  the  sheriff  the  absurdity  of  his  (a  mere  boy) 
conspiring  against  the  British  Empire,  and  de- 
manded proofs,  when  it  was  urged,  “ Oh,  you 
attended  Jacobin  clubs  at  Hamburg,  and  came 
over  thence  in  the  same  vessel  with  Donovan, 
who  commandedT  a regiment  of  the  rebels  at  Vine- 
gar Hill ; ” to  this  it  was  answered  that  he  (Camp- 
bell) had  never  heard  of  Jacobin  clubs  at  Ham- 
burg, and  as  to  the  rebel  Donovan  he  did  not 
know  of  his  being  a feUow  passenger,  until  he  saw 
him  on  deck.  On  further  examination,  and  read 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL.  xxxix 

ing  the  contents  of  papers  found  in  the  poet’s 
trunk,  which  had  been  seized  on  its  way  from 
Yarmouth  to  Edinburgh,  the  sheriff  began  to  see 
the  groundlessness  of  the  charge,  and  when  he 
had  read  a copy  of  the  ‘‘  Mariners  of  England,” 
found  amongst  the  supposed  treasonable  papers, 
he  said,  ‘‘  This  comes  of  trusting  to  a Hamburg 
spy,*’  and  observing  that  the  evening  was  cold  and 
wet,  he  insisted  upon  Campbell  remaining  and 
partaking  with  him  a bottle  of  wine,  after  which 
he  dismissed. him  in  high  good  humour.  And  thus, 
with  a character  honourably  cleared,  the  young 
poet  was  restored  to  the  good  opinion  of  many 
who  had  been  foolishly  credulous  in  his  guilt. 

Campbell,  on  entering  upon  family  prospects, 
found  cause  for  great  solicitude,  yet  he  did  not 
shrink  from  what  he  considered  his  duty  to  pro- 
vide house  and  home  for  his  mother  and  sisters  ; 
and  with  this  praiseworthy  object  in  view,  he  un- 
dertook some  heavy  literary  task-works,  the  pro- 
ceeds whereof  he  devoted  entirely  to  their  use. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  (1801),  Lord  Minto, 
who  had  then  recently  returned  from  the  Court 
of  Vienna,  where  he  had  resided  as  British  Envoy 
Extraordinary,  invited  him  on  a visit  to  Minto 
Castle.  The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  the 
result  of  the  visit  was  so  agreeable  to  both  parties, 
that  Campbell  consented  to  take  up  his  quarters 
^r  the  ensuing  season  at  his  Lordship’s  mansion 
in  Hanover  Square. 

On  his  arrival  in  the  metropolis,  all  faces  seemed 
to  smile  upon  him.  Cards  of  invitation  from 
persons  of  the  highest  distinction  were  left  for  him, 
the  world  greeted  him  with  its  most  seductive 
smile.  Lords  Minto  and  Holland  vied  with  each 
other  in  their  fostering  care,  and,  as  by  the  wave 


xl 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


of  a fairj  wand,  he  was  received  into  the  best 
and  most  intellectual  society  of  the  whole  world. 

The  season  was  passed  in  one  continual  whirl 
of  excitement  and  gayety.  His  happiest  moments 
were  those  which  he  passed  in  quiet  conversation 
with  Telford,  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  the  Kembles,  of 
whose  notice  and  friendship  he  was  most  justly 
proud. 

At  length  tired  of  dust,  spangle,  and  the  gayety 
of  fashionable  life,  he  hailed  with  delight  the  termi- 
nation of  the  fashionable  year,  and  the  prospect  of 
repose.  He  had  been  solicited  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer at  Minto,  and,  after  some  hesitation,  accept- 
ed this  renewed  offer  of  hospitality,  and  in  due 
course  proceeded  northwards  with  his  lordship  ; 
but  on  reaching  Newcastle,  tidings  arrived  that 
the  scarlet  fever  had  appeared  at  the  castle.  This 
induced  a postponement  of  the  visit,  and  the  poet 
betook  himself  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  passed 
some  time  in  Alison  Square,  Avith  his  mother  and 
sisters,  occupied  in  preparing  for  press  the  poems 
of  Lochiel  and  Hohenlinden  (which  soon  after- 
wards appeared,  dedicated  to  Mr.  Alison,  Prebend- 
ary of  Salisbury).  The  autumn  Avas  chiefly  spent 
at  Minto,  during  Avhich  pei'iod  he  Avas  engaged  in 
revising  the  proofs  of  a new  edition  of  his  poems, 
writing  articles  in  prose  for  booksellers  (a  labour, 
as  he  himself  said,  little  superior  to  compilation, 
and  more  connected  with  profit  than  reputation), 
editing  an  edition  of  Greek  tragedies,  collect- 
ing materials  for  a continuation  of  Hume  and 
Smollett’s  England,  and  thus  the  Avinter  passed 
BAvay. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1802,  he  proceeded 
ko  LiA’erpool,  and  after  a detour  through  the  Staf- 
fordshire potteries  (under  the  escort  of  Mr.  Ste* 


OF  TIIO:\[AS  CAMPBELL. 


xli 


V'enson),  he  proceeded  to  London  on  a visit  to  his 
stanch  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Telford,  the  celebrated 
engineer,  who  at  that  time  occupied  a suite  of 
apartments  at  the  Salopian  Hotel,  in  Charing 
Cross,  and  felt  much  anxiety  on  behalf  of  his 
young  friend,  wishing  to  bind  him  to  a sort  of  com- 
pact to  act  as  he  and  Mr.  Alison  might  suggest, 
not  because  he  had  any  fear  of  his  success  in  the 
literary  world,  but  because  he  knew  that  he  was 
but  partially  acquainted  with  business  rules  and 
habits,  upon  which  human  happiness  and  worldly 
success  so  greatly  depend. 

The  locale  of  Charino;  Cross  was  unconorenial 

o o 

to  Campbell’s  taste  ; the  noise,  dust,  and  crowd, 
made  him  sigh  for  a quiet,  rural  home ; and  his 
remarks  and  letters  to  his  friends  at  the  time, 
manifest  that  the  gayeties  of  a London  life  were 
very  far  from  consonant  to  his  feelings.  He  com- 
plained of  being  unable  to  fix  himself  to  any  thing, 
having  one  eternal  round  of  invitations  to  occupy 
him,  having  entered  “ a style  of  life  which  neither 
suited  purse  nor  health,  not  one  day  free  of  head- 
aches, nor  one  night  of  tolerable  rest.” 

In  the  month  of  June,  the  first  quarto  edition 
of  “ The  Pleasures  of  Hope,”  with  illustrations, 
and  accompanied  by  several  new  pieces  of  poetry, 
appeared,  and  was  so  eagerly  sought  after  that, 
added  to  the  incense  of  praise  he  received,  his 
spirits  became  so  elevated  and  buoyed  up  by  faith 
in  his  old  creed,  that  industry  and  perseverance 
could  surmount  all  difficulties,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  get  married,  and  take  a partner  for  life. 
He  had  long  cherished  feelings  of  regard  for  his 
cousin,  Matilda  Sinclair,  daughter  of  Mr.  Robert 
Sinclair,  for  many  years  a wealthy  merchant,  and 
first  magistrate  of  Greenock,  but  who  at  this  time, 


Jdii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

througli  severe  losses,  had  contracted  his  sphere, 
and  transferred  his  counting-house  to  Trinity 
Square,  City,  and  his  family  to  Park  Street, 
Westminster.  Here  Campbell  was  allowed  the 
entree^  and  soon  the  old  attachment  ripened  on 
both  sides  into  an  ardent  flame.  The  young 
lady’s  hand  was  in  due  course  solicited ; he  be- 
came an  accepted  suitor ; a something  was  said 
about  ways  and  means,  for  Mr.  Sinclair  candidly 
confessed  he  was  unable  to  give  any  dowry.  All 
difficulties,  however,  were  made  light  of,  scruples 
vanished,  and  the  young  couple  were  united  in 
Hymen’s  bonds  at  St.  Margaret’s,  Westminster, 
on  the  10th  of  September,  1802,  in  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Sinclair’s  family,  and  a party  of  friends. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  honeymoon,  the  bride 
and  bridegroom  returned  to  London,  and  took  up 
their  residence  in  apartments  in  Pimlico,  which 
had  been  furnished  and  prepared  for  them  by 
Mr.  Sinclair. 

For  many  months  life  seemed  more  and  more 
sunny ; literary  employment  poured  in  upon  him, 
and  he  was  honoured  by  the  offer  of  the  Regent’s 
Chair  in  the  Russian  University  of  Wilna.  His 
friends,  the  Lords  Minto  and  Holland,  and  Mr. 
Dugald  Stewart,  thought  this  a favourable  oppor- 
tunity for  his  advancement,  but  Campbell,  though 
at  first  relishing  the  proposition,  and  even  going 
so  far  as  to  have  an  interview  on  the  subject  with 
the  Russian  minister,  on  second  thoughts,  and 
hearing  stipulations,  felt  that  he  could  not  aban- 
don liberal  opinions  cherished  from  early  youth, 
and  inculcate  views  totally  foreign  to  them,  with- 
out much  mental  torture  and  sacrifice  of  inde- 
pendence; therefore  he  respectfully  declined  the 
distinction : besides,  in  a pecuniary  point  of  view 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


xliii 


his  prospects  looked  well ; many  of  his  articles 
appeared  in  the  leading  periodicals  of  the  day, 
and  though  oftentimes  anonymous,  yet  they  af- 
forded the  means  of  living  respectably,  and  thus 
he  worked  away  on  biographical  notices  of  poets, 
statesmen,  and  philosophy,  classics,  and  matters 
of  general  interest ; not  being  idle,  as  many  sup- 
posed, but  working  secretly,  and  oftentimes,  from 
an  over-fastidiousness,  erasing  in  a moment  the 
labours  of  an  entire  day. 

On  the  1st  of  July  the  poet  became  a father; 
the  child  was  christened  Thomas  Telford,  and  his 
birth  called  forth  feelings  and  language  beautilully 
expressive  of  delight  and  tender  affection.  Soon 
after  this  event,  his  health  and  spirits  suffered 
much  through  an  awkward  contretemps  with  Mr. 
Doig,  the  Scotch  bookseller.  The  difficulty,  how- 
ever, was  settled  through  friendly  interference, 
yet  the  traces  of  harass  and  vexation  remained 
behind,  and  change  and  country  air  was  advised. 
After  consultations  with  medical  and  other  friends, 
Sydenham  was  selected  as  his  future  residence ; 
and  to  this  place,  at  Michaelmas  (1804),  the 
family  removed,  and  wei’e  received  with  open 
arms  by  many  of  the  princi[)al  residents  in  the 
neighbourhood  ; this  became  a sort  of  oasis  in  the 
desert, — here,  to  use  Cam})bell’s  own  language, 
“ 1 contrived  to  support  my  mother,  my  wife,  and 
children  ; life  became  tolerable  to  me,  and  even 
agreeable.  I had  always  my  town  friends  to 
come  and  partake  of  my  humble  fare  of  a Sunday  ; 
and  among  my  neighbours,  I had  an  elegant  soci- 
ety among  whom  I counted  sincere  friends.” 

Yet  with  this  domestic  comfort,  he  had  his  mo- 
ments of  anxiety,  especially  as  he  was  called  upon 
to  sustain  alone  the  burden  of  supporting  his 


Xliv  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

mother  and  sisters.  Up  to  this  period  he  had 
shared  the  produce  of  his  brain,  Ins  only  farm, 
with  his  family ; he  had  allowed  his  mother  an 
annuity  of  70/.,  but  now  his  eldest  brother,  resi- 
dent in  America,  wrote  to  say,  that  the  remit- 
tances he  had  for  sometime  made  for  his  mother, 
must  for  the  future  cease  on  account  of  his  own 
slender  means.  Who  can  feel  surprise  at  a young 
man,  thus  situated,  becoming  nervous  and  agi- 
tated touching  the  future?  Two  establishments 
to  provide  for,  provisions  dear,  war  prices  pre- 
vailing in  every  department, — to  use  Campbell’s 
own  words — I had  never  known  in  earnest  the 
fear  of  poverty  before,  but  now  it  came  upon  me 
like  a ruthless  fiend.  If  I were  sentenced  to  live 
my  life  over  again,  and  had  the  power  of  suppli- 
cating adversity  to  spare  me,  I would  say,  oh ! 
adversity  take  any  other  shape.  To  meet  these 
pressing  demands  I obtained  literary  engagements 
both  in  prose  and  poetry,  but  a malady  came  over 
me  which  put  all  poetry,  and  even  imaginative 
prose,  out  of  the  question.  My  anxiety  to  wake 
in  the  morning,  in  order  to  be  at  my  literary  la- 
bours, kept  me  awake  all  night,  and  from  less  to 
more  I became  a victim  to  the  disease  called  coma 
vigil.”  At  this  time  he  received  a “ stab  in  the 
dark,”  in  the  shape  of  an  anonymous  letter  from 
Glasgow,  written  in  a female  hand,  purporting  to 
emanate  from  a society  called  the  “ Glasgow 
Female  Society,”  which  upbraided  him  in  bitter 
terms  for  neglect  of  a near  relative,  leaving  that 
relative,  as  it  declared,  to  poverty  and  distress. 
Possibly,  it  may  be  said,  he  was  over-sensitive ; yet 
it  was  hard,  after  great  exertion  and  sacrifices,  that 
his  conduct  should  be  totally  misrepresented,  and 
reproaches  be  heaped  upon  him.  Time,  however 


OP  THOMAS  CAMPBKLL. 


xlv 


heiiled  them,  and  during  the  autumn  we  find  him 
translating  foreign  correspondence,  contributing 
to  the  “Philosophical  Magazine,”  the  “Star” 
newspaper, — attending  daily  in  London, — subject 
at  times  to  occasional  fits  of  depression  and  fear, 
yet  not  without  his  sunny  moments. — he  had 
hopes  of  advancement,  and  was  encouraged  by 
persons  of  influence  to  believe  that  he  would  not 
be  overlooked  by  a liberal  ministry. 

About  this  time  the  first  idea  of  the  “ Speci- 
mens of  the  British  Poets,”  suggested  itself  to  his 
mind, — a work  which  it  has  been  well  said 
“ established  him  on  our  library  shelves  as  a prose 
writer,  and  is  the  test  of  his  unrhymed,  not  unpo- 
etical  works.”*  He  wrote  to  Sir  Walter  Scott 
on  the  subject,  stating  his  plan,  and  proposing  to 
divide  both  labour  and  profit.  Sir  Walter  was 
highly  pleased,  and  left  him  authority  to  arrange 
the  details ; but  for  a time  the  matter  was  broken 
off*  by  a difierence  about  terms  with  the  book- 
sellers. 

In  the  month  of  June,  1805,  his  second  son 
Alison  was  born.  In  the  same  year  his  circum- 
stances were  rendered  more  easy  by  a pension  of 
200Z.  per  annum,  conferred  upon  him  by  the 
Crown.  Touching  this  mark  of  royal  considera- 
tion, he  left  the  following  : — 

“ My  pension  was  given  to  me  under  Charles 
Fox’s  administration.  So  many  of  my  friends  in 
power  expressed  a desire  to  see  that  favour  con- 
ferred upon  me,  that  I could  never  discover  the 
precise  individual  to  whom  I was  indebted  for  it. 
Lord  Minto’s  interest  I knew  was  not  wanting ; 
but  I hope  I may  say,  without  ingratitude  to 


This  Work  forms  seven  volumes  in  small  8vo.  1819. 


Xivi  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

others,  that  I believe  Charles  Fox  and  Lord 
Holland  would  have  bestowed  the  boon  without 
any  other  intervention.”  The  use  Campbell  made 
of  this  addition  to  his  income,  was  this — the  one 
half  he  reserved  for  his  own  necessities,  the  other 
he  generously  divided  between  his  mother  and 
sisters. 

Before  the  close  of  the  year,  the  late  Francis 
Horner,  M.  P.,  one  of  the  poet’s  earliest  friends, 
proposed  to  him  to  publish  a new. edition  of  his 
best  poetical  works  by  subscription,  and  volun- 
teered his  services  in  tilling  up  the  list.  In  writ- 
ing shortly  after  he  had  obtained  the  poet’s 
sanction,  he  said,  “Very  little  exertion  has  been 
made,  but  we  have  got  above  200/.,  of  which  60/. 
are  from  Oxford.  I shall  be  very  mucn  disap- 
pointed if  we  do  not  put  into  the  poet’s  purse 
more  than  1000/.”  The  result  was  as  anticipated, 
and  with  an  easy  mind  and  resources  recruited, 
he  went  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

In  the  spring  of  1806,  Campbell  met  Mr.  Fox 
at  Lord  Holland’s  at  dinner ; both  were  pleased 
with  each  other,  and  at  parting,  the  premier  said, 
“ Mr.  Campbell,  you  must  come  and  see  me  at 
Saint  Anne’s  Hill,  and  there  we  shall  talk  more 
about  these  matters,”  (referring  to  the  heroic  cha- 
racters in  Virgil,  often  much  criticized  as  mono- 
tonous). Fox  said  privately  in  the  ear  of  his 
nephew  (Lord  Holland),  “1  like  Campbell,  he 
is  so  right  about  Virgil ; ” and  there  can  be  no 
question  that  the  poet  was  singularly  happy  at  all 
times  in  his  classical  allusions,  as  Sidney  Smith 
once  said,  after  listening  to  some  of  his  remarks, 
“ What  a vast  field  of  literature  that  young  man’s 
mind  has  rolled  over.” 

The  poem  of  “ Gertrude  of  Wyoming,”  which 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBEl 


m»ARY 


had  for  some  time  divided  Cam pb^I^s  though M'f''' 
with  other  literary  cares,  was  compler^  m.  Ithe  ^ 
early  part  of  1809,  and  in  March  was  sho#n-  v-^ 
Mr.  Alison  and  Lord  Jeffrey,  and  was  pronounced 
by  them  worthy  of  the  writer’s  talent  and  acquired 


fame. 

Lord  Jeffrey,  in  writing  to  Campbell,  said, 
“ There  is  great  beauty,  and  great  tenderness  and 
fancy  in  the  work,  and  I am  sure  it  will  be  very 
popular.  The  latter  part  is  exquisitely  pathetic,  and 
the  whole  touched  with  those  soft  and  sky  ish  tints  of 
purity  and  truth  whichfUll  like  enchantment  on  all 
minds  that  can  make  any  thing  of  such  matters.” 

The  public  hailed  with  delight  this  new  volume. 
Yet  Campbell’s  joy  was  in  a moment  overcast  and 
for  a time  destroyed  by  the  sickening  and  death, 
by  scarlet  fever,  of  his  son  Alison,  the  child  of 
many  a fondly  cherished  hope ; for  some  time  his 
heart  seemed  crushed ; the  event  sunk  deep,  and 
was  never,  even  in  after  years,  referred  to  without 
perceptible  emotion ; for  weeks  he  was  incapable 
of  consecutive  thought ; and  it  was  at  last  only 
through  the  kind  sympathy  of  Mr.  Alison  that  he 
became  tranquillized  and  able  to  I'esunie  his  duties, 
and  at  last  set  down  to  prepare  a course  of  lectures 
for  delivery  at  the  Royal  Institution. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  year  1812,  the 
poet’s  mother  died  at  Edinburgh,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-six.  Mac  Arthur  Stewart,  Campbell’s 
highland  cousin,  insisted  upon  defraying  the  entire 
cost  of  her  funeral,  which  was  - attended  by  more 
than  two  hundred  people. 

In  the  months  of  April  and  May,  Campbell’s 
Lectures  on  Poetry  were  delivered  at  the  Royal 
Institution.  They  went  off  with  great  eclat,  and 
obta ’ned  for  him  increased  popularity,  and  a large 


D 


iilviii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


Biiiii  of  money.  Shortly  afterwards  lie  was  pre- 
sented to  the  Prineess  of  Wales  by  Lady  Char- 
lotte Campbell,  and  subsequently  received  an 
invitation  to  a grand  ball  given  by  Her  Royal 
Highness  at  Blaekheath,  wliere  he  had  the  honour 
of  dancing  a reel  with  Royalty. 

Society  exerted  its  claims  upon  Campbell  very 
much  during  this  period.  Madame  de  Stael,  in 
the  spring  of  1813,  visited  England,  and  the  poet 
had  the  gratification  of  meeting  her  frequently.  In 
writing  to  a friend  at  this  time,  and  referring  to 
the  Lectures  then  recently  read  at  the  Royal  In- 
stitution, he  says,  I spent  a day  or  two  with 
Madame  de  Stael  this  spring,  and  read  her  my 
lectures — one  of  them  against  her  own  doctrines, 
in  poetry.  She  battled  hard  with  me,  but  was 
very  good-natured  and  complimentary.  Every 
now"  and  then,  she  said,  ‘ When  you  jiublish  your 
lectures,  they  will  make  a great  impression  over 
all  Europe ; I know  nothing  in  English  but 
Burke’s  writings  so  striking.’  This  she  said  be- 
fore Lord  Han*owby  and  a large  party  ; and  if 
her  praise  was  flattery,  she  at  least  committed 
herself.” 

During  Campbell’s  residence  at  Ratisbon  he 
had  been  kindly  received  by  General  Moreau, 
and  [)resented  to  his  young  and  beautiful  wdfe. 
This  lady,  in  1813,  visited  London.  In  one  of 
his  letters,  he  says,  1 have  dined  with  Madame 
Moreau  ; she  did  me  the  honour  of  talking  almost 
exclusively  to  me.  I sate  between  Madame  do 
Stael  and  the  lovely  ‘ widow.’  ” In  another  letter 
he  says,  “ I have  spent  a pleasant  day  at  Lord 
Holland’s  ; we  had  the  Marquis  of  Buckingham, 
Sergeant  Best,  (Lord  Winford,)  Major  Stanhope, 
Sir  James  Mackintosh,  and  a swan  at  dinner 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


xlix 


Lord  Byron  came  in  the  evening.  It  was  one  of 
the  best  parties  I ever  saw.” 

After  a.  dinner  party  at  Holland  House,  Lord 
Byron,  in  writing  of  the  poet,  at  this  time,  said, 
“ Campbell  looks  well,  seems  pleased,  and  dresses 
to  sprucery ; a blue  coat  becomes  liim,  so  does  a 
new  wig, — he  really  looked  as  if  Apollo  had  sent 
him  a birth-day  suit,  or  a wedd  iig  garment.  He 
was  lively  and  witty.  We  were  standing  in  the 
ante-saloon,  when  Lord  H.  brought  out  of  the 
other  room  a vessel  of  some  composition  similar 
to  that  used  in  Catholic  churches,  and  seeing  us, 
he  exclaimed,  ‘ Here  is  some  incense  for  you  ! * 
Campbell  answered,  ‘ Carry  it  to  Lord  Byron, 
he  is  used  to  it.’  ” 

About  this  time  Lawrence  took  a sketch  of 
Campbell.  The  gifted  knight  caused  the  head  to 
be  engraved  at  a cost  of  40/.,  and  having  written 
his  autograph  on  the  proofs,  presented  them  to 
the  poet. 

In  the  early  part  of  March,  in  tliis  year,  he 
visited  Madame  de  8tael,  which  procured  him 
the  acquaintance  of  many  distinguished  strangers. 

At  the  peace  of  1814,  on  the  fall  of  Naj)oleon, 
the  capture  of  Paris,  and  the  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons,  in  common  with  many  others,  Campbell 
was  seized  with  a desire  to  visit  Paris.  Mrs. 
Siddons,  John  Kemble,  the  Baroness  de  Stael, 
had  pressed  him  to  join  them,  and  on  the  25th  of 
August  he  embarked  for  Dieppe,  where  he  spent 
a week,  and  then  proceeded  to  Rouen,  where  he 
rested  two  days,  having  been  received  with  great 
kindness  by  Professor  Vitalis,  and  subsequently 
eh  cted  member  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  that 
^lace. 

In  announcing  his  arrival  at  Paris,  Campbell 


I 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


says,  “ You  may  imagine  with  what  feelings  1 
caught  the  first  sight  of  Paris,  and  passed  under 
Montmartre,  the  scene  of  the  last  battle  between 
tlie  French  and  allies.  It  was  evening  when  we 
entered  Paris.  Next  morning  I met  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  walked  about  with  her,  and  then  visited  the 
Louvre  together.  Oh  ! how  that  immortal  youth, 
Apollo,  in  all  his  splendour,  majesty,  and  divinity, 
flashed  upon  us  from  the  end  of  the  gallery ! 
What  a torrent  of  ideas,  classically  associated  with 
this  godlike  form,  rushed  upon  me  at  this  moment ! 
My  heart  palpitated,  my  eyes  filled  with  tears — 
I was  dumb  with  emotion. 

“ Here  are  a hundred  other  splendid  statues, — 
the  Venus — the  Menander — the  Pericles — Cato 
and  Portia,  the  father  and  daughter  in  an  attitude 
of  melting  tenderness.” 

He  remained  nearly  two  months  in  Paris  and 
having  in  that  time  contracted  many  friendships, 
which  animated  his  studies,  and  ripened  his  tastes, 
(Baron  Cuvier  and  the  elder  Schlegel  amongst 
the  number),  he  embarked  at  Calais,  and  after 
narrowly  escaping  shipwreck  from  the  ignorance  of 
the  person  in  charge  of  the  vessel,  who  was  neither 
captain  nor  seaman,  and  who  ran  the  ship  within 
a few  hundred  yards  of  the  Shakespeare  cliff,  to 
the  terror  of  the  passengers,  one  of  wdiom  was 
washed  overboard  and  drowned,  he  arrived  at 
Dover,  and  thence  proceeded  to  Sydenham. 

On  the  25th  of  March,  1815,  a welcome  acces- 
sion of  fortune  befell  him  by  the  death  of  Mao 
Arthur  Stewart,  of  Ascog,  in  whose  will  he  was 
left  one  of  the  specific  legatees  ; the  amount  real- 
ized, after  paying  legacy  duty  and  other  expenses, 
was  449 8Z.  lOs.  (the  interest  of  which  is  still  en- 
)oyed  by  the  poet’s  son).  It  is  said  that  Mr,  IVIac 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


li 


Arthur  Stewart,  the  testator,  when  giving  instruc- 
tions foi’  his  settlement,  observed  that.  ‘‘  The  poet, 
ought  to  have  a legacy^  became  he  had  been  so  kind 
as  to  give  his  mother  sixty  pounds  yearly  out  of 
his  pension^  It  will  be  out  of  place  here  to  say 
much  on  the  relationship  between  Mr.  Stewart 
and  the  poet’s  family,  but  it  was  the  deliberate 
opinion  of  many  distinguished  counsel,  that  if 
Campbeirs  elder  brother  had  been  aware  of  the 
law  which  rendered  aliens  to  the  crown  of  Great 
Britain  incapable  of  inheriting  entailed  estates, 
or  of  holding  land  within  the  United  Kingdom, 
and  had  made  up  his  title  as  the  nearest  heir 
of  tailzie,  on  the  death  of  Mac  Arthur  Stewart, 
or  before  Mr.  Campbell  Stewart,  his  successor, 
obtained  his  act  of  naturalization,  he  might  have 
been  the  proprietor  of  the  old  family  estates,  which 
were  afterwards  sold  by  the  American  heir  for 
78,000/. 

The  poet  was  now  required  at  Edinburgh  to 
look  after  this  new  acquisition,  and  on  his  arrival, 
after  years  of  absence,  was  warmly  greeted  by 
many  old  friends,  and  by  Lord  Gillies,  and  Lord 
Alloway,  two  of  Mr.  Mac  Arthur  Stewart’s  exe- 
cutors. On  leaving  Edinburgh,  he  journeyed  to 
Kinniel,  the  residence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dugald 
Stewart,  where  he  spent  some  ‘Giappy  days;” 
thence  he  made  a tour  amongst  his  relatives  in 
and  near  Glasgow. 

During  the  years  1816  and  1817,  he  was  oc- 
cupied in  preparing  for  the  press  Specimens  of 
the  Bi’itish  Poets,  wliic'h,  preceded  by  an  Essay 
on  Poetry,  was  published  by  Mr.  Murray. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  lamented  death  of  the 
Princess  Charlotte,  he  wrote  a monody,  which 
Vas  recited  by  Mrs.  Bartley,  at  Drury  Lane 


lii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


Theatre,  for  the  benefit  of  the  performers  who, 
through  this  national  calamity,  had  suffered  se- 
verely. 

In  1818,  Mr.  Roscoe,  on  the  part  of  the  Royal 
Institution  of  Liverpool,  concluded  an  arrange- 
ment with  him  for  the  delivery  of  twelve  lectures 
on  the  poetry  of  Greece,  for  150  guineas  guaran- 
teed, and  the  subscriptions  above  that  sum,  and 
in  due  course  these  lectures  were  delivered  and 
listened  to  with  a delight  and  enthusiasm  long 
lemembered  by  many  who  had  the  gratification 
of  hearing  them.  The  subscriptions  increased 
the  sum  of  150  guineas  to  upwards  of  340/.,  and 
he  received  lOOZ.  more  for  repeating  them  at  Bir- 
mingham on  his  way  home  to  London. 

In  1820,  Campbell,  who  had  long  wished  to 
revisit  Germany,  was  enabled  to  do  so.  On  the 
24th  of  May,  he  concluded  an  agreement  with 
Mr.  Colburn,  the  publisher,  for  the  editorship  of 
the  ‘‘  New  Monthly,”  for  three  years  certain,  from 
the  first  of  January  ensuing,  at  500Z.  per  annum. 
This  settled,  he  embarked  for  Holland,  arrived  at 
the  port  of  Rotterdam,  thence  proceeded  up  the 
Rhine,  and  took  up  his  quarters  at  Bonn,  where 
he  was  most  warmly  received  by  the  Schlegels, 
Professor  Arndt,  and  other  professors  of  the  Uni- 
versity ; thence  he  made  excursions  into  various 
districts  bordering  the  Rhine,  and  after  a sojourn 
of  some  weeks,  revisited  Ratisbon,  and  his  old 
asylum,  the  Scotch  College,  and  then  by  the  Dan- 
ube proceeded  to  Vienna,  from  which  place,  after 
an  agreeable  sojourn  of  some  months,  he  return- 
ed to  Bonn,  thence  to  England,  and  arrived  in 
London  on  the  24th  of  November,  and  immedi- 
ately commenced  arrangements  for  his  editorial 
duties.  He  soon  organized  a staff,  and  with  a full 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


liii 


conviction  of  the  arduous  undertaking  in  hand,  he 
lent  to  it  all  his  energies,  and  soon  the  “ New 
Monthly  ” exhibited  fresh  spirit  and  power,  and 
for  the  ten  years  following,  during  which  he  con- 
tinued editor,  was  inferior  to  none  of  the  maga- 
zines in  public  favour  and  estimation. 

Having  bidden  farewell  to  Sydenham,  which 
ho  often  said  was  the  “ greenest  spot  in  memory’s 
waste,”  he  settled  down  permanently  in  London, 
projecting  new  efforts  in  the  cause  of  literature. 

Now  another  domestic  calamity  befell  him,  an 
affliction  which  embittered  many  days,  which 
otherwise,  humanly  speaking,  would  have  been 
joyous  and  tranquil;  his  only  son  was  pronounced, 
either  from  hereditary  taint  or  accident  at  school, 
incapable  of  prosecuting  his  studies  with  advan- 
tage ; every  thing  was  done  that  affection  could 
devise,  struggles  were  made,  sacrifices  gladly  un- 
dergone, no  pecuniary  expense  spared.  It  was 
only  after  many  alarms  that  Campbell  could  be 
brought  to  believe  that  the  symptoms  manifested, 
were  any  thing  more  than  the  effects  of  temper,  or 
mere  physical  derangement. 

In  November,  1824,  while  his  mind  was  still  on 
the  rack,  alternating  between  hope  and  fear  con- 
cerning his  son’s  malady,  ai)peared  the  poem  of 
‘‘  Theodric.”  Considerable  popularity  was  antici- 
pated for  it,  which  its  author,  however,  did  not 
live  to  see  realized.  While  the  work  was  in  the 
press,  in  writing  to  his  sister,  he  says,  “ I am 
sorry  there  should  be  any  great  expectation  ex- 
cited about  the  poem,  which  is  not  of  a nature  to 
gratify  such  expectation.  It  is  truly  a domestic 
and  private  story.  I know  very  well  vdiat  will 
be  its  fate  ; there  will  be  an  outcry  and  regret  that 
there  is  nothing  grand  or  romantic  in  it,  and  that 


liv  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

it  is  too  humble  and  familiar.  But  I am  prepared 
for  this ; and  I also  know  that  when  it  recovers 
from  the  first  buzz  of  such  criticism,  it  will  attain 
a steady  popularity.” 

The  founding  of  the  University  of  London  is 
the  next  feature  of  CampbelFs  life  which  deserves 
notice  ; the  idea,  as  is  well  known,  entirely  origin- 
ated with  him,  and  its  realization  he  ever  felt  a 
source  of  satisfaction  ; he  looked  upon  the  event, 
as  he  chose  to  say,  as  “ the  only  important  one  in 
his  lifers  little  history.” 

From  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to  the  Univer- 
sities of  Bonn,  Heidelberg,  and  Vienna,  this  sub- 
ject had  occupied  most  of  his  thoughts,  and  from 
time  to  time,  as  opportunity  served,  he  mentioned 
the  subject  to  his  friends.  At  length  his  plans 
became  matured,  and  he  was  enabled,  at  a public 
meeting  summoned  for  that  purpose,  to  set  forth 
his  scheme  in  a manner  which  exhibited  not  onl}/ 
its  feasibility,  but  at  once  won  over  the  entire 
audience  to  cooperation  and  an  unanimous  deter- 
mination to  carry  out  his  suggestions. 

After  the  matter  had  progressed,  and  his  view^ 
been  explained,  we  find  him  (in  a letter  dated 
April  30th,  1825,)  thus  referring  to  the  subject: — 
“I  have  had  a double  quick  time  of  employment 
since  I saw  you.  In  addition  to  the  business  of 
the  magazine,  I have  had  that  of  the  University 
in  a formidable  shape.  Brougham,  who  must 
have  popularity  among  Dissenters,  propounded  the 
matter  to  them.  The  delegates  of  almost  all  the 
dissenting  bodies  in  London  came  to  a conference 
at  his  summons.  At  the  first  meeting  it  was 
decided  that  there  should  be  Theological  chairs, 
partly  Church  of  England,  and  partly  Presbyte- 
rian. I had  instructed  all  friends  of  the  Univer* 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


1\ 


sity  to  resist  any  attempt  to  make  us  a Theolo- 
gical body ; but  Brougham,  Hume,  and  John  Smith, 
came  away  from  the  first  meeting  saying,  ‘ We 
think  with  you,  that  the  introduction  of  divinity 
will  be  mischievous  ; but  we  must  yield  to  the 
Dissenters,  with  Irving  at  their  head.  We  must 
have  a Theological  College.’  1 immediately  waited 
on  the  Church  of  England  men,  who  had  already 
subscribed  to  the  number  of  a hundred,  and  said 
to  them,  ‘ You  see  our  paction  is  broken.  1 in- 
duced you  to  subscribe  on  the  faith,  that  no  ec- 
clesiastical interest,  English  or  Scotch,  should 
predominate  in  our  scheme;  but  the  Dissenters 
are  rushing  in.  What  do  you  say  ? ’ They — 
that  is,  the  Church  of  England  friends  of  the 
scheme — concerted  that  I should  go  commissioned 
from  them,  to  say  at  the  conference,  that  either 
the  Church  of  England  must  predominate,  or  else 
there  must  be  no  Church  influence.  I went  with 
this  commission  ; I debated  the  matter  with  the 
Dissenters.  Brougham,  Hume,  and  John  Smith, 
who  had  before  deserted  me,  changed  sides,  and 
came  over  to  me.  Irving,  and  his  party  stoutly 
opposed  me  ; but  I succeeded  at  last  in  gaining  a 
complete  victory.  . . . The  Dissenters  themselves,  I 
must  say,  behaved  with  extreme  candour : they 
would  not  even  suffer  me  to  conclude  my  reply 
to  Mr.  Irving;  but  exclaimed,  ‘Enough,  enough. 
We  are  convinced,  and  concede  the  point,  that  the 
University  shall  be  without  religious  rivalship.’ 
The  scene  concluded  amicably:  Lord  Althorp 
appeared  on  the  part  of  the  Church,  and  coin- 
cided in  the  decision. 

“A  directory  of  the  association  for  the  scheme 
of  the  University  is  to  meet  in  my  house  on 
Monday,  and  every  thing  promises  well.  You 


Ivi 


BIOGRAPniCAL  SKETCH 


cannot  conceive  what  anxiety  I have  undergone^ 
whilst  I imagined  that  the  whole  beautiful  pro- 
ject was  likely  to  be  reduced  to  a mere  Dissent- 
ers’ University.  But  I have  no  more  reason  to 
be  dissatisfied  with  the  Dissenters  than  with  the 
hundred  Church  of  England  Subscribers,  whose 
interests  I have  done  my  best  to  support.  I re~ 
qard  this  as  an  eventful  day  in  my  life^ 

A few  days  afterwards  he  thus  writes : — 

‘‘  You  will  not  grudge  postage,  to  be  told  the 
agreeable  news  that  Brougham  and  Hume  have 
reported  their  having  had  a conference  with  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  and  Lord  Liver- 
pool ; and  that  they  expressed  themselves  not  un- 
favourable to  the  plan  of  a great  College  in  Lon- 
don. Of  course,  as  ministers  had  not  been  asked 
to  pledge  themselves  to  support  us,  but  only  to 
give  us  a general  idea  of  their  disposition,  we 
could  only  get  what  we  sought,  a general  answer, 
but  that  being  so  favourable,  is  much.  I was  glad 
also  to  hear  that  both  Mr.  Robinson  and  Lord 
Liverpool  approved  highly  of  no  rival  theological 
chairs  having  been  agreed  upon.  Mr.  Robinson 
even  differed  from  Mr.  Hume,  when  the  latter 
said,  ‘ Of  course  getting  a charter  is  not  to  be 
thought  of.’  ‘ I beg  your  pardon,’  said  Mr.  Rob- 
inson, ‘ I think  it  might  be  thought  of ; and  it  is 
by  no  means  an  impossible  supposition.’ 

copy  of  my  scheme  of  education,  but  much 
mutilated  and  abridged,  is  submitted  to  their  in- 
Bpection.  I mean,  however,  to  transmit  to  them 
jny  scheme  in  an  entire  shape,  and  to  publish  it 
afterwards  as  a pamphlet.  In  the  mean  time,  I 
must  for  a while  retire  and  leave  this  business  to 
oth(ir  hands,  now  that  it  seems  safe  from  any  mis- 
chief which  hitherto  threatened  it.  I send  you 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL.  Ivii 

this  intelligence  because  it  is  an  event  to  me^  or  ftt 
least  a step  in  a promised  event,  which  will  be, 
perhaps,  the  only  important  one  in  my  life’s  little 
history.” 

Subsequently  he  wrote:  — “I  rejoice  to  find 
the  wisest  Churchmen  and  the  wisest  Dissenters 
decidedly  agreeing  on  this  point,  that  we  ought  in 
this  scheme  religiously  to  avoid  all  chance  of  reli- 
gious controversy,  Mr.  Irving  said,  that  learning 
and  science  were  the  natural  enemies  of  religion  ; 
but  if  he  said  so,  I paid  him  home  for  it  very 
well.  He  came  and  shook  hands  with  me  at  the 
conclusion.” 

From  this  time,  comparatively,  all  was  plain 
sailing ; difficulties  were  mastered,  and  the  project 
daily  advanced  in  popularity.  Campbell’s  scheme 
of  education  was  founded  on  the  basis  of  the  plans 
resorted  to  both  in  British  and  Foreign  Univer- 
sities, adapting  the  leading  features  of  each  to  the 
advance  of  knowledge  and  the  growing  necessities 
of  the  age.  In  order  to  leave  no  system  unnoticed, 
he  determined  to  visit  the  University  of  Berlin, 
and  ascertain  whether  its  system  and  curriculum 
of  education  could  with  advantage  be  adopted  in 
the  London  University.  With  this  in  view,  on 
the  10th  of  September,  he  embarked  for  Germany, 
and  in  eighty  hours  arrived  in  safety  at  Ham- 
burg. On  the  21st,  he  wrote  from  Berlin,  “ I 
have  just  been  througli  the  University.  I have 
taken  the  dimensions  of  its  rooms,  and  got  some 
books  which  give  an  account  of  its  institutions. 
I have  also  given  my  letter  of  introduction  to  the 
librarian  (Dr.  Spiker),  who  has  given  me  the 
uherty  of  getting  out  any  books  I may  wish  for. 
I told  you,  in  my  letter  from  Hamburg,  that  I 
should  go  to  Leipsic  ; but  I was  soon  after  inform- 
ed that  Berlin  is  a place  much  preferable  for  m^ 


Iviii 


BlOGRArillCAL  SKETCH 


object,  and  superadds  other  agremensy  He  after* 
wards  remarked — ‘‘  I have  got  every  piece  of  in- 
formation respecting  the  University,  and  every 
book  that  I wished  for.  The  librarian  of  the 
University  in  particular.  Dr.  Spiker,  has  sent  me 
every  book  to  my  lodgings  that  I wanted  to  con- 
sult.” . . . I should  have  felt  many  inconve- 
niences in  many  instances,  had  I not  fortunately 
met  with  a couple  of  my  countrymen,  who  are 
studying  medicine  here,  although  they  have  actu- 
ally entered  the  London  College  of  Surgeons. — 
These  young  men  make  me  feel  very  old,  for  they 
pay  me  such  attention  that  1 think  I must  appear 
in  their  eyes  as  venerable  as  Nestor ! They 
regulate  their  business  for  the  day  so  as  to  keep 
themselves  at  my  service — as  they  share  it  when- 
ever they  can  be  useful ; so  that  I have  no  trouble 
but  to  eat  and  drink  and  go  about  to  see  sights. 
From  anybody  such  attention  would  excite  a kind- 
ly feeling  ; but  from  young  men  of  most  respect- 
able attainments  and  gentlemanlike  manners,  it  is 
even  flattering.  I am  not  suffered  to  carry  my 
own  cloak  or  umbrella,  nor  to  bring  any  thing  for 
myself  that  I want ; and  they  offered  even  to 
write  out  a translation  of  some  difficult  German 
which  I have  had  to  get  through  to  the  amount  of 
sixty  very  large-sized  and  small-printed  quartp^ 
pages.  As  they  are  in  very  good  circumstances, 
the  offer  was  perfectly  gratuitous  ; but  I thought 
it  would  be  unfair  to  allow  them  to  sacrifice  so 
much  time  from  their  own  proper  studies.  Final- 
ly, my  devoted  friends  have  taken  out  their  places 
for  Hamburg,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  din- 
ner to  be  given  me,  whether  it  shall  jirove  public 
or  private.”  ^ 

* These  gentlemen  were  Mr.  William  Coulson  of  London, 
^nd  Mr.  E.  J.  Spry  of  Truro. 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


lix 


In  the  early  part  of  the  } ear  1826,  Campbell 
received  a communication  from  Glasgow,  to  the 
effect  that  it  was  desired  he  should  become  Lord 
Hector  for  the  year  ensuing,  and  adding  that  he 
“ bad  a strong  party  among  the  students  of  Glas- 
gow, who,  if  he  accepted  their  in  citation,  would 
insure  his  election.’’  After  much  hesitation,  in 
consequence  of  domestic  afflictions,  he  consented 
to  allow  himself  to  be  put  forward  as  a candidate, 
lie  was  duly  elected,  by  an  immense  majority,  on 
the  unanimous  vote  of  the  four  nations.  The  fact 
was  formally  notified  by  Dr.  Macfarlane,  the 
Principal  of  the  College,  on  the  15th  of  November, 
1826. 

Campbell  greatly  enjoyed  this  sun-burst  of 
popular  favour — not  the  less  so  because  he  knew 
that  some  of  the  professors  had  set  up,  in  opposi- 
tion to  him,  Mr.  Canning  and  Sir  Thomas  Bris- 
bane, and,  actuated  by  feelings  of  political  distrust, 
had  exerted  their  utmost  influence  to  secure  the 
first-named  gentleman’s  election.  In  consequence 
of  Campbell’s  delicate  state  of  health,  his  installa- 
tion as  Lord  Rector  did  not  take  place  until  the 
12th  of  April,  when  he  delivered  his  inaugural 
address  to  an  overflowing  assembly  of  professors, 
students,  and  citizens,  amongst  whom,  though 
divided  in  political  sentiments,  there  seemed,  at 
the  time,  to  exist  but  one  feeling  of  gratification. 
On  the  13th  of  April,  he  wrote,  “ I delivered  my 
inaugural  speech  yesterday  with  complete  success  ; 
the  enthusiasm  was  immense.  I dined  afterwards 

with  the  professors  in  the  Faculty I find 

the  rectorship  will  be  no  sinecure.  I have  sat 
four,  hours  examining  accounts,  and  hearing  expla- 
nations from  the  Faculty,  with  Sir  John  Connel, 
the  Dean  of  Faculty,  my  co-exarniner  and  visitor. 


lx 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


to  whom  the  professors  are  anxious  to  rendei 
their  accounts.” 

As  Lord  Rector  of  the  University  of  Glasgow, 
Campbell  exerted  himself  largely  for  the  benefit 
of  his  constituents  : the  lectures,  the  funds,  the 
library,  the  examinations,  were  inquired  into ; 
alterations  made  ; grievances  redressed  ; and  no 
pains  were  deemed  too  great  to  render  assistance 
to  the  commissioners  then  acting  under  a commis- 
sion of  inquiry  on  the  affairs  of  the  College.  On 
the  14th  of  November,  Campbell  was  reelected 
Lord  Rector  for  the  year  1828,  without  one  dis- 
sentient voice.  During  his  second  year  of  office, 
his  wife,  Mrs.  Campbell,  died.  She  expired  on 
the  10th  of  May,  and  on  the  15th  of  the  same 
month  the  poet  thus  writes am  alone  ; 
and  I feel  that  I shall  need  to  be  some  time  alone — 
prostrated  in  heart  before  that  Great  Being  wdio 
can  alone  forgive  my  errors  ; and  in  addressing 
whom,  alone,  I can  frame  resolutions  in  my  heart 
to  make  my  remaining  life  as  pure  as  nature’s 
infirmities  may  permit  a soul  to  be,  that  believes 
in  His  existence,  and  goodness  and  mercy.  ...” 
As  the  poignancy  of  his  grief  subsided,  we  trace 
him  in  communication  with  Lord  Aberdeen  on  the 
Commission  of  Inquiry,  and  doing  his  utmost  to 
preserve  the  privileges  of  his  students ; and  so 
grateful  were  “ his  boys,”  as  he  loved  to  call  them, 
that,  in  addition  to  a handsome  present  of  silver 
plate  made  to  him,  they  resolved  to  strain  every 
nerve  to  reelect  him  for  the  third  time, — an  ho- 
nour, the  highest  that  could  be  conferred.  No 
such  instance  of  the  kind  had  happened  for  a cen- 
tury previously.  This  honour,  however,  was  not 
to  be  gained  without  a struggle  ; Sir  Walter  Scott 
became  his  competitor — put  forward,  as  supposed^ 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


Ixi 


by  the  Vice-Rector.  Campbell,  however,  was  re- 
elected for  the  year  1829  ; and,  during  this  year, 
by  his  exertions,  permanent  advantages  were  con- 
ceded to  the  objects  of  his  care — not  the  least  of 
these  being  a free  access,  at  all  reasonable  times, 
to  the  Museum  and  College  Library. 

The  year  1830  was  chiefly  memorable  to  Camp- 
bell from  the  death  of  his  friend,  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence, — his  declining  the  editorship  of  the 
“ New  Monthly  Magazine,” — and  active  exertions 
made  for  the  Poles,  in  whose  behalf,  in  the  year 
following,  he  organized  “ the  Association  of  the 
Friends  of  Poland.” 

During  the  years  1831-2,  he  became  editor  of 
the  “ Metropolitan  Magazine.” 

In  the  month  of  July,  1832,  Campbell  was  in- 
vited to  come  forward  as  a candidate  for  the  repre- 
sentation of  a Scotch  constituency  in  the  House 
of  Commons  ; but,  after  giving  the  subject  full 
deliberation,  he  declined  the  honour  (though  his 
return  seems  to  have  been  almost  certain)  ; and 
the  grounds  of  his  refusal  seem  to  have  rested  on 
the  multiplicity  of  engagements,  among  which 
the  Polish  Association  seemed  paramount.  The 
amount  of  labour  he  underwent,  and  the  money 
he  spent  on  behalf  of  this  oppressed  people,  ex- 
ceeded far  what  either  his  social  or  pecuniary 
position  justified. 

In  1834,  Campbell  revisited  Paris,  where  he 
was  eagerly  welcomed  by  many  of  the  exiles  from 
I^oland.  Thence  he  proceeded  to  Algiers,  whence 
the  letters  were  written  which  appeared  in  the 
[>ages  of  the  ‘‘  New  Monthly  Magazine.”  He 
returned  to  Great  Britain  in  1835  via  Paris, 
where  he  was  presented  to  the  late  ex-King  Louis 
Philippe,  and  thence,  by  way  of  Scotland,  staying 


kXll 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


at  Edinburgh  and  Brougham  Hall  on  the  road, 
he  arrived  in  London. 

During  the  following  years,  he  was  engaged  in 
a variety  of  subjects,  which  brought  him  money 
rather  than  fame  ; among  these,  the  Life  of  Mrs. 
Siddons  and  the  Life  of  Petrarch,  and  lent  his 
name  editorially  to  some  reprints.  But  the  oil  was 
now  seen  to  burn  lower  and  lower  in  the  lamp,  and 
the  social  wit  waxed  faint,  or  moved  perplexedly 
among  old  recollections,  where  it  had  formerly 
struck  out  bright  creations.  It  was  a sorrowful 
thing  to  see  him  gliding  about  like  a shadow, — to 
hear  that  his  health  compelled  him  to  retreat  more 
and  more  from  the  world  he  had  once  so  adorned.” 
On  the  26th  June,  1838,  he  was  presented  at  Court 
by  the  late  Duke  of  Argyle,  at  the  first  levee  after 
her  Majesty’s  accession,  the  queen  having  pre- 
viously accepted  from  him  the  present  of  his 
poems,  and  afterwards  sent  him  her  picture.  The 
effect  of  the  crowd  and  detention  for  about  two 
hours  among  at  least  a thousand  persons,  brought 
on  a fever,  which,  however,  was  overcome  under 
medicine  and  repose. 

In  the  winter  of  1840,  Campbell  took,  on  lease, 
a house, — No.  8,  Victoria  Square,  Pimlico, — 
where  he  proposed  to  spend  the  autumn  of  his 
days.  Having  now  arrived  at  the  age  of  sixty- 
three,  and  experienced  dll  ring  preceding  years  the 
misery  of  repeated  changes  of  abode,  and  the  dis- 
comfort of  a solitary  life,  he  determined  upon  real- 
izing a long-cherished  wish — to  adopt  a favorite 
niece  (Mary  Campbell)  whom  he  had  affectionate- 
ly noticed  from  her  infancy — the  youngest  daugh- 
ter of  his  brother,  Alexander  Campbell,  late  of 
Glasgow,  deceased.  After  obtaining  her  mother’s 
consent,  he  wrote  thus : “ She  need  not  come  to 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


Ixiii 


London  till  the  middle  of  ]May,  and  then,  in  mj 
new  house,  she  shall  be  as  welcome  as  the  flowers 
of  that  month.  It  will  be  an  amusement  to  me  to 
instruct  her  mind  whenever  she  chooses.  But 
assure  her,  from  me,  that  she  need  not  fear  being 
set  to  learn  more  than  she  really  wishes  ; and  she 
must  not  greet  at  parting  from  her  mother,  for  I 
will  send  her  back  on  a visit  to  you  as  often  as 
she  likes.” 

In  1842,  appeared  “ The  Pilgrim  of  Glencoe,” 
accompanied  by  a number  of  minor  pieces  ; but 
the  chief  poem  added  nothing  to  his.  reputation, 
and  its  reception  was  not  by  any  means  cheering : 
the  smaller  productions  were  welcomed  kindly  as 
ever.  Yet  he  was  greatly  disappointed.  He  had 
heard  it  said,  a new  poem  by  him  was  like  a bill 
at  sight.  Now  he  began  to  realize  the  truth  that 
old  age  was  fast  creeping  upon  him.  Occasionally 
sunny  days  brightened  his  decline.  He  became 
restless,  and  somewhat  careless  in  dress  ; he  began 
to  indulge  much  in  change  of  scene  ; Dinan,  on 
the  Continent,  Cheltenham,  in  England,  and  other 
places,  were  all  tried,  one  after  the  other ; and  at 
last  he  determined  to  dispose  of  the  lease  of  his 
house  in  London  and  become  a denizen  of  Bou- 
logne-sur-Mer,  calculating  that  he  would  live  there 
in  greater  seclusion  and  at  a cheaper  cost  than  in 
England. 

One  of  the  chief  indications  of  decay  was  an 
unfounded  dread  of  poverty.  After  the  first  blush 
of  life  had  passed,  he  had  been  far  more  happy  in 
his  pecuniary  circumstances  than  most  poets  or 
literary  men  could  boast ; for  at  this  time,  (1842), 
and  for  many  years  previously,  his  income  was 
little  less  than  1100/.  per  annum — the  interest 
on  the  legacy  of  4500/.  from  the  Ascog  estates 

E 


IxiY  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

produced  200/. ; his  pension  200/. ; the  profits  of 
his  works,  between  600/.  and  700/;  and,  in  1843, 
on  the  death  of  his  surviving  sister,  he  received 
a sum  of  800/.,  the  greater  part  of  which,  how- 
ever, he  sunk  in  an  annuity,  receiving  for  his 
investment”  only  one  pecuniary  payment. 

In  June,  1843,  a farewell  party  (as  it  turned 
out)  was  given  to  all  his  friends  then  in  town,  and 
in  the  month  following  he  left  his  home  never 
to  return  to  it,  except  for  a few  days  in  order  to 
dispose,  at  all  hazards,  of  his  lease  in  the  house. 
On  the  15th  of  July,  he  arrived  at  Boulogne,  and 
^vas,  by  the  kind  assistance  of  Mr.  Hamilton,  the 
British  consul,  soon  located  with  his  niece  at  the 
Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  a quiet  and  well-regulated 
hotel,  in  the  upper  town.  Here,  after  a month’s 
residence,  he  took  a house  in  the  Haute  Ville, — 5, 
Hue  Petit  St.  Jean.  For  some  months  he  seemed 
contented  and  benefited  by  the  change  of  air  and 
scene,  but  the  house  lay  high  and  exposed,  and 
in  November,  when  the  cold  weather  set  in,  a 
feeling  of  indolence  and  torpor  seemed  (as  he 
expressed  it)  to  grow  upon  him  ; but  this  evi- 
denced not  merely  the  effect  of  the  change  of  season, 
but  the  progress  of  disease — an  affection  of  the 
liver  ; yet,  now  and  then,  though  expressing  a 
belief  that  the  lease  of  life  had  almost  expired,  he 
would  rally — be  himself  again — and  tell  his  plans 
for  the  future.  Though  in  seclusion  and  retire- 
ment, he  purposed  to  show  to  the  world  he  was 
not  idle,  and  so  he  made  efforts  and  strove  until 
wearied  nature  told  the  plain  but  trying  truth  that 
his  days  were  numbered.  At  times,  when  the  wea- 
ther was  inviting,  attended  by  his  affectionate 
niece,  he  would  walk  a little  way  down  the  hill 
leading  from  the  Haute  Ville  to  the  Bas  Ville. 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


Ixv 


His  favourite  haunt  about  mid-day  was  the  ram- 
parts upon  wliich  his  house  abutted,  but,  at  last, 
when  winter  set  in  chill  and  rigorous,  he  was  fain 
to  retire  to  his  easy  chair  and  a warm  corner  in 
his  library.  Here,  in  writing  a work,  entitled 

Lectures  on  Classical  Geography,”  intended  to 
have  been  dedicated  to  his  niece, — in  reading  the 
journals  of  the  day, — in-  listening  to  some  of  his 
old  favourite  pieces  of  music, — the  long  evenings 
passed  onwards.  The  new  year  arrived,  but  open- 
ed upon  the  sick  man  with  little  of  a hopeful  cha- 
racter. He  was  oppressed  by  a constant  sensation 
of  cold.  He  now  began  to  drop  all  correspond- 
ence, and  to  decline  seeing  any  of  the  many  kind 
friends  who  called  to  proffer  their  services.  As 
spring  came  on,  and  the  weather  grew  gradually 
more  mild  and  settled,  he  revived  for  a few  weeks ; 
but  this  was  succeeded  by  a perceptible,  though 
gradual,  decay  of  strength.  Towards  the  end  of 
May,  he  became  entirely  confined  to  his  bed,  and 
the  English  physician  (Dr.  Allatt),  who  had  been 
constant  in  his  attendance,  held  out  no  hopes  of 
ultimate  recovery. 

About  three  weeks  prior  to  his  death,  he  ex- 
pressed a conviction  that  he  would  never  again 
leave  his  bed  alive  ; his  niece  endeavoured  to  cheer 
his  spirits  and  to  infuse  hope,  that  if  God  so  willed 
it,  with  care,  he  might  live  for  many  years ; to 
this  he  answered,  ‘‘  For  your  sake  I had  wished 
T might  live  for  some  years  longer,  for  you  are 
now  the  only  tie  I have  to  this  world  ; indeed, 
you  are  the  dearest  object  I have  on  earth.”  To 
which  Miss  Campbell  replied,  ‘‘  Oli ! that  is  a 
poetical  flight'^  He  replied,  Nay,  my  dear,  it  is 
a prosaic  truth  I ” 

Every  exertion  that  affectionate  tenderness,  or 


Ixvi 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


woman’s  love,  could  devise,  was  lavished  upon 
him ; he  was  generally  alive  to  all  that  passed ; 
and  though  Iiis  sufferings  at  times  were  acute,  no 
expressions  of  impatience  ever  escaped  his  lips. 

About  ten  days  before  his  dissolution,  Dr.  Beat- 
tie  came  from  England  to  visit  his  old  friend,  and 
on  his  part  zealously  aided  Miss  Campbell  in  her 
labour  of  love,  exerting  to  the  utmost  all  his  well- 
known  professional  skill  and  kindly  sympathies, 
in  striving  to  soothe  the  poet’s  dying  pillow.  As 
opportunity  served,  and  the  attention  of  the  suf- 
ferer could  be  aroused,  passages  from  the  Scrip- 
tures, particularly  from  the  Gospels  and  Epistles, 
were  read,  and  his  attention  directed  to  the  as- 
surance of  hope  to  the  faithful  believer  through 
the  Saviour’s  atonement.  On  several  occasions 
he  expressed  to  his  niece  a vivid  sense  of  the 
beauty  and  sublimity  of  the  Bible,  particularly 
the  Old  Testament,  and  shed  tears  over  the  glow- 
ing language  and  poetic  imagery  of  the  sweet 
Psalmist  of  Israel. 

On  the  12th  of  June  he  became  at  times  insen- 
sible, but  towards  evening  rallied  a little,  and,  ad- 
dressing his  niece,  who  was  standing  over  his 
couch,  said,  “ Come,  let  us  sing  praises  to  Christ ; ” 
then  pointing  to  the  bed-side,  he  added,  ‘‘sit  here.” 
Miss  Campbell  said,  “ Shall  I pray  for  you  ? ” 
“ Oh ! yes,”  he  replied,  “ let  us  pray  for  one  ano- 
ther.” 

During  the  two  following  days  he  continued 
almost  entirely  in  a state  of  stupor,  occasionally 
naming  friends  long  absent,  and  making  observa- 
tions, which  from  their  total  irrelevancy  to  all  that 
was  passing  in  his  room,  show^ed  that  his  mind 
was  no  longer  under  his  own  control. 

On  the  15th  instant,  at  a quarter  past  four  io 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL, 


Ixv  il 


the  afternoon,  he  expired  without  the  slightest 
perceptible  struggle  ; indeed  the  sudden  change 
of  his  countenance  was  the  first  indication  that 
the  spirit  of  the  Bard  of  Hope  had  fled. 

When  the  arrangements,  required  by  the  laws 
of  France  in  cases  of  death,  had  been  completed 
with  the  Commissaire  de  Police  and  his  officials, 
the  body  was  laid  for  several  days  in  the  drawing- 
room, crowned  with  a wreath  of  laurel,  during 
which  period  it  was  visited  by  many  strangers, 
English  and  French,  and  many  acquaintances  and 
friends  of  the  deceased,  all  anxious  to  testify  their 
kindly  sympathies  and  take  a last  look  at  him  who 
had  so  often  cheered  and  elevated  their  hearts. 
After  this  manifestation  of  affection  to  his  memory, 
the  corpse  was  consigned  to  a coffin  of  lead,  and 
having  been  duly  sealed  with  the  town  seal  of 
Boulogne,  was  deposited  in  an  outer  coffin  of 
wood,  upon  the  lid  of  which  was  inscribed,  on  a 
brass  plate  the  following  inscription  : — 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL,  LL.D., 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  “PLEASURES  OF  HOPE,** 

DIED  JUNE  XV.,  MDCCCXLIV. 

AGED  67. 

On  the  27th  of  June,  the  body  was  embarked 
at  midnight  for  London,  and  on  its  arrival  in  the 
metropolis  was  conveyed  to  the  undertaker’s  house 
— thence  to  a chapel  near  the  Jerusalem  Cham- 
ber, Westminster  Abbey,  in  which  it  remained 
until  the  3d  of  July,  the  day  of  the  funeral ; a 
day  well  remembered  by  the  many  who  witnessed 
the  solemn  ceremonial, — men  of  all  gradations  of 
rank,  (not  omitting  the  head  of  his  clan,  the  Duke 
of  Argyle,  and  the  premier,  the  late  lamented  Sir 
Etobert  Peel)  ; they  all  vied  with  each  other  in 


Ixviii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


paying  a last  tribute  of  respect  to  the  merits  of 
this  admired  genius. 

Since  Campbell’s  decease,  a full-length  statue, 
by  Mr.  W.  C.  Marshall,  has  been  finished,  and 
is  proposed  to  be  erected  in  Poets’  Corner,  West- 
minster Abbey. 

We  close  this  short  sketch  of  the  career  of  this 
gifted  individual,  by  a few  quotations  from  his  own 
words  at  the  age  of  sixty-one,  recorded  in  Remi- 
niscences of  the  Poet  by  Members  of  his  Family, 
lie  spoke  frequently,  if  led  to  it,  of  his  feelings 
while  writing  his  poems.  When  he  wrote  the 
“ Pleasures  of  Hope,”  fame,  he  said,  was  every 
thing  in  the  world  to  him : if  any  one  had  fore- 
told to  him  then^  how  indifferent  he  would  be  now 
to  fame  and  public  opinion,  he  would  have  scouted 
the  idea.  He  said  he  hoped  he  really  did  feel, 
with  regard  to  his  posthumous  fame,  that  he  left 
it,  as  well  as  all  else  about  himself,  to  the  mercy 
of  God.  “ I believe  when  I am  gone,  justice  will 
be  done  to  me  in  this  way — -that  I was  a pure 
writer.  It  is  an  inexpressible  comfort,  at  my 
time  of  life,  to  be  able  to  look  back  and  feel  that 
I have  not  written  one  line  against  religion  or 
virtue.” 

Another  time,  speaking  of  the  insignificance 
which  in  one  sense  posthumous  fame  must  have, 
he  said,  ‘‘  When  I think  of  the  existence  which 
shall  commence  when  the  stone  is  laid  above  my 
head, — when  I think  of  the  momentous  realities 
of  that  time,  and  of  the  awfnlness  of  the  account 
I shall  have  to  give  of  myself,  how  can  literary 
fame  appear  to  me  but  as — nothing.  Who  will 
think  of  it  then  ? If,  at  death,  we  enter  on  a new 
state  of  eternity,  of  what  interest  beyond  his 
present  life  can  a man’s  literary  fame  be  tc 


OF  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


Ixix 


him  ? Of  none — when  he  thinks  most  solemnly 
about  it.” — 

“ Farewell ! if  ’tis  the  muse’s  boast  to  crown 
With  deathless  fame,  and  virtue  meets  renown; 

While  yonder  orbs  their  measured  dance  pursue, 

The  wise  shall  praise,  the  good  shall  copy  YOU.” 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE 


PART  THE  FIRST, 


ANALYSIS  OF  PAKT  I. 


The  Poem  opens  with  a comparison  between  the  beauty  of 
remote  objects  in  a landscape,  and  those  ideal  scenes  of 
felicity  which  the  imagination  delights  to  contemplate — the 
mtiuence  of  anticipation  upon  the  other  passions  is  next 
delineated — an  allusion  is  made  to  the  well-known  fiction  in 
Pagan  tradition,  that,  whei  all  the  guardian  deities  of  man 
kind  abandoned  the  world,  Hope  alone  was  left  behind — the 
consolations  of  this  passion  in  situations  of  danger  and  dis 
tress — the  seaman  on  his  watch — the  soldier  marching  into 
battle — allusion  to  the  interesting  adventures  of  Byron. 

The  inspiration  of  Hope,  as  it  actuates  the  efforrs  of  genius, 
whether  in  the  department  of  science,  or  of  taste— domestic 
felicity,  how  intimately  connected  with  views  of  future 
happiness — picture  of  a mother  watching  her  infant  when 
asleep — pictures  of  the  prisoner,  the  maniac,  and  the  wan- 
derer. 

From  the  consolations  of  individual  misery  a transition  is 
made  to  prospects  of  political  improvement  in  the  future 
state  of  society — the  wide  field  that  is  yet  open  for  the  pro- 
gress of  humanizing  arts  among  uncivilized  nations — from 
these  views  of  amelioration  of  societ3%  and  the  extension  of 
liberty  and  truth  over  despotic  a ud  barbarous  countries,  by  a 
melancholy  contrast  of  ideas,  we  are  led  to  reflect  upon  the 
hard  fate  of  a brave  people  recently  conspicuous  in  tlu  ir 
struggles  for  independence — description  of  the  capture  of 
Warsaw,  of  the  last  contest  of  the  oppressors  and  the  op- 
pressed, and  the  massacre  of  the  Polish  patriots  at  the  bridge 
of  Prague — apostrophe  to  the  self-interested  enemies  of  hu- 
man improvement — the  wrongs  of  Africa — the  barbarous  poli- 
cy of  Europeans  in  India — prophecy  in  the  Hindoo  mythology 
ol  the  expected  descent  of  the  Deity  to  redress  the  miseries 
of  their  race,  and  to  take  vengeance  on  the  violators  of  justice 
and  mercy. 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


PART  I. 

At  summer  eve,  when  Heaven’s  ethereal  bow 
Spans  with  bright  arch  the  glittering  hills  below, 
Why  to  yon  mountain  turns  the  musing  eye, 
Whose  sunbright  summit  mingles  with  the  sky? 
Why  do  those  cliffs  of  shadowy  tint  appear 
More  sweet  than  all  the  landscape  smiling 
near  ? — 

’Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view. 

And  robes  the  mountain  in  its  azure  hue. 

Thus,  with  delight,  we  linger  to  survey 
The  promised  joys  of  life’s  unmeasured  way; 
Thus,  from  afar,  each  dim-disco ver’d  scene 
More  pleasing  seems  than  all  the  past  hath  beea 
And  every  form,  that  Fancy  can  repair 
From  dark  oblivion,  glows  divinely  there. 

What  potent  spirit  guides  the  raptured  eye 
To  pierce  the  shades  of  dim  futurity  ? 

Can  Wisdom  lend,  with  all  her  heavenly  power, 
The  pledge  of  Joy’s  anticipated  hour? 

Ah,  no ! she  darkly  sees  the  fate  of  man — 

Her  dim  horizon  bounded  to  a span ; 

Or,  if  she  hold  an  image  to  the  view, 

’Tis  Nature  pictured  too  severely  true. 


4 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


With  thee,  sweet  Hope  ! resides  the  heavenly 
light, 

That  pours  remotest  rapture  on  the  sight : 

Thine  is  the  charm  of  life’s  bewilder’d  way. 

That  calls  each  slumbering  passion  into  play. 
Waked  by  thy  touch,  I see  the  sister  band, 

On  tiptoe  watching,  start  at  thy  command. 

And  fly  where’er  thy  mandate  bids  them  steer, 
To  Pleasure’s  path  or  Glory’s  bright  career. 

Primeval  Hope,  the  Abnian  Muses  say. 

When  Man  and  Nature  mourn’d  their  first  decay ; 
When  every  form  of  death,  and  every  woe. 

Shot  from  malignant  stars  to  earth  below ; 

When  Murder  bared  her  arm,  and  rampant  War 
Yoked  the  red  dragons  of  her  iron  car; 

When  Peace  and  Mercy,  banish’d  from  the  plain, 
Sprung  on  the  viewless  winds  to  Heaven  again ; 
All,  all  forsook  the  friendless,  guilty  mind. 

But  Hope,  the  charmer,  linger’d  still  behind. 

Thus,  while  Elijah’s  burning  wheels  prepare 
From  Carmel’s  heights  to  sweep  the  fields  of  air 
The  prophet’s  mantle,  ere  his  flight  began, 

Dropt  on  the  world — a sacred  gift  to  man. 

Auspicious  Hope  ! in  thy  sweet  garden  grow 
Wreaths  for  each  toil,  a charm  for  every  woe; 
Won  by  their  sweets,  in  Nature’s  languid  hour. 
The  way-worn  pilgrim  seeks  thy  summer  bower 
There,  as  the  wild  bee  murmurs  on  the  wing, 
What  peaceful  dreams  thy  handmaid  spirits 
bring! 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


5 


What  viewless  forms  tli’  ^olian  organ  play, 

And  sweep  the  furrow’d  lines  of  anxious  thought 
away. 

Angel  of  life  1 thy  glittering  wings  explore 
Eartli’s  loneliest  bounds,  and  Ocean’s  wildest 
shore ! 

Lo ! to  the  wintry  winds  the  pilot  yields 
His  bark  careering  o’er  unfathom’d  fields ; 

Now  on  Atlantic  waves  he  rides  afar, 

Where  Andes,  giant  of  the  western  star, 

With  meteor-standard  to  the  winds  unfurl’d, 
Looks  from  his  throne  of  clouds  o’er  half  the 
world ! 

Now  far  he  sweeps,  where  scarce  a summer 
smiles, 

On  Behring’s  rocks,  or  Greenland’s  naked  isles : 
Cold  on  his  midnight  watch  the  breezes  blow, 

F rom  wastes  that  slumber  in  eternal  snow ; 

And  waft,  across  the  waves’  tumultuous  roar, 

The  wolf’s  long  howl  from  Oonalaska’s  shore. 

Poor  child  of  danger,  nursling  of  the  storm. 
Sad  are  the  woes  that  wreck  thy  manly  form ! 
Rocks,  waves,  and  winds,  the  shatter’d  bark  delay; 
Thy  heart  is  sad,  thy  home  is  far  away. 

But  Hope  can  here  her  moonlight  vigils  keep, 
And  sing  to  charm  the  spirit  of  the  deep : 

Swift  as  yon  streamer  lights  the  starry  pole. 

Her  visions  warm  the  watchman’s  pensive  soul; 
His  native  hills  that  rise  in  happier  climes. 

The  grot  that  heard  his  song  of  other  times. 


6 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


His  cottage  home,  his  bark  of  slender  sail, 

His  glassy  lake,  and  broomwood-hlossom’d  vale, 
Rush  on  his  thought ; he  sweeps  before  the  wind, 
Treads  the  loved  shore  he  sigh’d  to  leave  behind; 
Meets  at  each  step  a friend’s  familiar  face, 

And  flies  at  last  to  Helen’s  long  embrace ; 

Wipes  from  her  cheek  the  rapture-speakirg  tear ! 
And  clasps,  with  many  a sigh,  his  children  dear ! 
While,  long  neglected,  but  at  length  caress’d. 

His  faithful  dog  salutes  the  smiling  guest. 

Points  to  the  master’s  eyes  (where’er  they  roam) 
His  wistful  face,  and  whines  a welcome  home. 

Friend  of  the  brave ! in  peril’s  darkest  hour, 
Intrepid  Virtue  looks  to  thee  for  power ; 

To  thee  the  heart  its  trembling  homage  yields, 

On  stormy  floods,  and  carnage-cover’d  fields, 
When  front  to  front  the  banner’d  hosts  combine. 
Halt  ere  they  close,  and  form  the  dreadful  line. 
When  all  is  still  on  Death’s  devoted  soil. 

The  march-worn  soldier  mingles  for  the  toil ! 

As  rings  his  glittering  tube,  he  lifts  on  high 
The  dauntless  brow  and  spirit-speaking  eye. 

Hails  in  his  heart  the  triumph  yet  to  come. 

And  hears  thy  stormy  music  in  the  drum ! 

And  such  thy  strength-inspiring  aid  that  bore 
The  hardy  Byron  to  his  native  shore — 

In  horrid  climes,  where  Chiloe’s  tempests  sweep 
Tumultuous  murmurs  o’er  the  troubled  deep, 
'Twas  his  to  mourn  Misfortune’s  rudest  shock. 
Scourged  by  the  winds,  and  cradled  on  the  rock, 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


7 


To  wake  each  joyless  morn  and  search  again 
Tlie  famish’d  haunts  of  solitary  men  ; 

Whose  race,  unyielding  as  their  native  storm, 
Know  not  a trace  of  Nature  but  the  form ; 

Yet,  at  thy  call,  the  hardy  tar  pursued, 

Pale,  but  intrepid,  sad,  but  unsubdued. 

Pierced  the  deep  woods,  and  hailing  from  afar 
The  moon’s  pale  planet  and  the  northern  star, 
Paused  at  each  dreary  cry,  unheard  before, 
Hyaenas  in  the  wild,  and  mermaids  on  the  shore ; 
Till,  led  by  thee  o’er  many  a cliff*  sublime. 

He  found  a warmer  world,  a milder  clime, 

A home  to  rest,  a shelter  to  defend. 

Peace  and  repose,  a Briton  and  a friend ! 

Congenial  Hope  ! thy  passion-kindling  power, 
How  bright,  how  strong,  in  youth’s  untroubled 
hour ! 

On  yon  proud  height,  with  Genius  hand  in  hand, 
I see  thee  ’light  and  wave  thy  golden  wand. 

“ Go,  child  of  Heaven ! (thy  winged  words 
proclaim) 

’^ris  thine  to  search  the  boundless  fields  of  fame ! 
Lo ! Newton,  priest  of  Nature,  shines  afar. 

Scans  the  wide  world,  and  numbers  every  star ! 
Wilt  thou,  with  him,  mysterious  rites  apply. 

And  watch  the  shrine  with  wonder-beaming  eye 
Yes,  thou  shalt  mark,  with  magic  art  profound. 
The  speed  of  light,  the  circling  march  of  sound: 
With  Franklin  grasp  the  lightning’s  fiery  wing. 
Or  yield  the  lyre  of  Heaven  another  string. 


8 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


The  Swedish  sage  admires,  in  yonder  bowers, 
His  winged  insects,  and  his  rosy  flowers ; 

Calls  from  their  woodland  haunts  the  savage  train, 
With  sounding  horn,  and  counts  them  on  the 
plain — 

So  once,  at  Heaven’s  command,  the  wanderers 
came 

To  Eden’s  shade,  and  heard  their  various  name. 

“ Far  from  the  world,  in  yon  sequester’d  clime, 
Slow  pass  the  sons  of  Wisdom,  more  sublime ; 
Calm  as  the  fields  of  Heaven,  his  sapient  eye 
The  loved  Athenian  lifts  to  realms  on  high. 
Admiring  Plato,  on  his  spotless  page. 

Stamps  the  bright  dictates  of  the  Father  sage: 

‘ Shall  Nature  bound  to  Earth’s  diurnal  span 
The  fire  of  God,  th’  immortal  soul  of  man?’ 

‘‘  Turn,  child  of  Heaven,  thy  rapture-lighten’d 
eye 

To  Wisdom’s  walks,  the  sacred  Nine  are  nigh : 
Hark ! from  bright  spires  that  gild  the  Delphian 
height. 

From  streams  that  wander  in  eternal  light. 
Ranged  on  their  hill,  Harmonia’s  daughters 
swell 

The  mingling  tones  of  horn,  and  harp,  and  shell ; 
Deep  from  his  vaults  the  Loxian  murmurs  flow, 
And  Pythia’s  awful  organ  peals  below. 

“ Beloved  of  Heaven ! the  smiling  Muse  shall 
shed 

Her  moonlight  halo  on  thy  beauteous  head ; 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


9 


Shall  swell  thy  heart  to  rapture  unconfined, 

And  breathe  a holy  madness  o’er  thy  mind. 

I see  thee  roam  her  guardian  power  beneath, 

And  talk  with  spirits  on  the  midnight  heath ; 
Enquire  of  guilty  wanderers  whence  they  came, 
And  ask  each  blood-stain’d  form  his  earthly  name  ; 
Then  weave  in  rapid  verse  the  deeds  they  tell, 
And  read  the  trembling  world  the  tales  of  hell. 

“ When  Venus,  throned  in  clouds  of  rosy  hue, 
Flings  from  her  golden  urn  the  vesper  dew, 

And  bids  fond  man  her  glimmering  noon  employ 
Sacred  to  love,  and  walks  of  tender  joy ; 

A milder  mood  the  goddess  shall  recall. 

And  soft  as  dew  thy  tones  of  music  fall ; 

While  Beauty’s  deeply-pictured  smiles  impart 
A pang  more  dear  than  pleasure  to  the  heart — 
Warm  as  thy  sighs  shall  flow  the  Lesbian  strain. 
And  plead  in  Beauty’s  ear,  nor  plead  in  vain. 

Or  wilt  thou  Orphean  hymns  more  sacred 
deem. 

And  steep  thy  song  in  Mercy’s  mellow  stream ; 
To  pensive  drops  the  radiant  eye  beguile — 

For  Beauty’s  tears  are  lovelier  than  her  smile ; — 
On  Nature’s  throbbing  anguish  pour  relief. 

And  teach  impassioned  souls  the  joy  of  grief? 

“ Yes ; to  thy  tongue  shall  seraph  words  be 
given. 

And  power  on  earth  to  plead  the  cause  of  Heaven  5 
The  proud,  the  cold  untroubled  heart  of  stone. 
That  never  mused  on  sorrow  but  its  own. 


10 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Unlocks  a generous  store  at  tlij  command, 

Like  Iloreb’s  rocks  beneath  the  prophet’s  hand. 
The  living  lumber  of  his  kindred  earth, 

Charm’d  into  soul,  receives  a second  birth, 

Feels  thy  dread  power  another  heart  afford. 
Whose  passion-touch’d  harmonious  strings  accord 
True  as  the  circling  spheres  to  Nature’s  plan  ; 
And  man,  the  brother,  lives  the  friend  of  man. 

“ Bright  as  the  pillar  rose  at  Heaven’s  com- 
mand. 

When  Israel  march’d  along  the  desert  land. 
Blazed  through  the  night  on  lonely  wilds  afar, 
And  told  the  path — a never-setting  star : 

So,  heavenly  Genius,  in  thy  course  divine.^ 

Hope^  is  thy  star,  her  light  is  ever  thine/L,^ 
Propitious  Power ! when  rankling  cares  an- 
noy 

The  sacred  home  of  Hymenean  joy ; 

When  doom’d  to  Poverty’s  sequester’d  dell. 

The  wedded  pair  of  love  and  virtue  dwell, 
Unpitied  by  the  world,  unknown  to  fame, 

Their  woes,  their  wishes,  and  their  hearts  the 
same — 

Oh,  there,  prophetic  Hope  ! thy  smile  bestow, 
And  chase  the  pangs  that  worth  should  never 
know — 

There,  as  the  parent  deals  his  scanty  store 
To  friendless  babes,  and  weeps  to  give  no  more, 
Tell,  that  his  manly  race  shall  yet  assuage 
Their  father’s  wrongs,  and  shield  his  latter  age. 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


11 


What  though  for  him  no  Hybla  sweets  distih 
Nor  bloomy  vines  wave  purple  on  the  hill ; 

Tell,  that  when  silent  years  have  pass’d  away, 
That  when  his  eye  grows  dim,  his  tresses  gray, 
These  busy  hands  a lovelier  cot  shall  build, 

And  deck  with  fairer  flowers  his  little  field. 

And  call  from  Heaven  propitious  dews  to  breathe 
Arcadian  beauty  on  the  barren  heath  ; 

Tell,  that  while  Love’s  spontaneous  smile  endears 
The  days  of  peace,  the  sabbath  of  his  years, 
Health  shall  prolong  to  many  a festive  hour 
The  social  pleasures  of  his  humble  bower. 

Lo ! at  the  couch  where  infant  beauty  sleeps, 
Her  silent  watch  the  mournful  mother  keeps ; 
She,  while  the  lovely  babe  unconscious  lies, 
Smiles  on  her  slumbering  child  with  pensive 
eyes. 

And  weaves  a song  of  melancholy  joy — 

‘‘  Sleep,  image  of  thy  father,  sleep,  my  boy  ; 

No  lingering  hour  of  sorrow  shall  be  thine ; 

No  sigh  that  rends  thy  father’s  heart  and  mine ; 
Bright  as  his  manly  sire  the  son  shall  be 
In  form  and  soul ; but,  ah  ! more  blest  than  he ! 
Thy  fame,  thy  worth,  thy  filial  love  at  last, 

Shall  soothe  his  aching  heart  for  all  the  past — 
With  many  a smile  my  solitude  repay, 

And  chase  the  world’s  ungenerous  scorn  away. 
“And  say,  when  summon’d  from  the  world  and 
thee, 

I lay  my  head  beneath  the  willow  tree, 


12 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Wilt  thou^  sweet  mourner!  at  mj  stone  appear, 
And  soothe  my  parted  spirit  lingering  near  ? 

Oh,  wilt  thou  come  at  evening  hour  to  shed 
The  tears  of  Memory  o’er  my  narrow  bed; 

With  aching  temples  on  thy  hand  reclined, 

Muse  on  the  last  farewell  I leave  behind. 
Breathe  a deep  sigh  to  winds  that  murmur  low 
And  think  on  all  my  love,  and  all  my  woe?” 

So  speaks  affection,  ere  the  infant  eye 
Can  look  regard,  or  brighten  in  reply ; 

But  when  the  cherub  lip  hath  learnt  to  claim 
A mother’s  ear  by  that  endearing  name ; 

Soon  as  the  playful  innocent  can  prove 
A tear  of  pity,  or  a smile  of  love. 

Or  cons  his  murmuring  task  beneath  her  care, 

Or  lisps  with  holy  look  his  evening  prayer, 

Or  gazing,  mutely  pensive,  sits  to  hear 
The  mournful  ballad  warbled  in  his  ear ; 

How  fondly  looks  admiring  Hope  the  while, 

At  every  artless  tear,  and  every  smile ; 

How  glows  the  joyous  parent  to  descry 
A guileless  bosom,  true  to  sympathy ! 

Where  is  the  troubled  heart  consign’d  to  share 
Tumultuous  toils,  or  solitary  care. 

Unblest  by  visionary  thoughts  that  stray 
To  count  the  joys  of  Fortune’s  better  day! 

Lo,  nature,  life,  and  liberty  relume 

The  dim-eyed  tenant  of  the  dungeon  gloom, 

A long-lost  friend,  or  hapless  child  restored, 
Smiles  at  his  blazing  hearth  and  social  board ; 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


13 


Warm  from  his  heart  the  tears  of  rapture  flow, 
And  virtue  triumphs  o’er  remember’d  woe. 

Chide  not  his  peace,  proud  Reason;  nor  de- 
stroy 

The  sliadowy  forms  of  uncreated  joy, 

That  urge  the  lingering  tide  of  life,  and  pour 
Spontaneous  slumber  on  his  midnight  hour. 

Hark ! the  wild  maniac  sings,  to  chide  the 
gale 

That  wafts  so  slow  her  lover’s  distant  sail ; 

She,  sad  spectatress,  on  the  wintry  shore. 

Watch’d  the  rude  surge  his  shroudless  corse  that 
bore. 

Knew  the  pale  form,  and,  shrieking  in  amaze. 
Clasp’d  her  cold  hands,  and  fix’d  her  maddening 
gaze : 

Poor  widow’d  wretch ! ’twas  there  she  wept  in 
vain. 

Till  Memory  fled  her  agonizing  brain  ; — 

But  Mercy  gave,  to  charm  the  sense  of  woe. 
Ideal  peace,  that  truth  could  ne’er  bestow ; 

Warm  on  her  heart  the  joys  of  Fancy  beam. 

And  aimless  Hope  delights  her  darkest  dream. 
Oft  when  yon  moon  has  climb’d  the  midnight 

sky, 

And  the  lone  sea-bird  wakes  its  wildest  cry. 

Piled  on  the  steep,  her  blazing  fagots  burn 
To  hail  the  bark  that  never  can  return ; 

And  still  she  waits,  but  scarce  forbears  to  weep 
That  constant  love  can  linger  on  the  deep. 


14 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


And,  mark  the  wretch,  whose  wanderings  never 
knew 

The  world’s  regard,  that  soothes,  though  half  uii* 
true ; 

Whose  erring  heart  the  lash  of  sorrow  bore, 

But  found  not  pity  when  it  err’d  no  more. 

Yon  friendless  man,  at  whose  dejected  eye 
Th’  unfeeling  proud  one  looks — and  passes  by. 
Condemn’d  on  Penury’s  barren  path  to  roam. 
Scorn’d  by  the  world,  and  left  without  a home — 
Even  he,  at  evening,  should  he  chance  to  stray 
Down  by  the  hamlet’s  hawthorn-scented  way, 
Where,  round  the  cot’s  romantic  glade,  are  seen 
The  blossom’d  bean-field,  and  the  sloping  green. 
Leans  o’er  its  humble  gate,  and  thinks  the  while-— 
Oh  ! that  for  me  some  home  like  this  would  smile, 
Some  hamlet  shade,  to  yield  my  sickly  form 
Health  in  the  breeze,  and  shelter  in  the  storm ! 
There  should  my  hand  no  stinted  boon  assign 
To  wretched  hearts  with  sorrow  such  as  mine ! — 
That  generous  wish  can  soothe  unpitied  care. 
And  Hope  half  mingles  with  the  poor  man’s 
prayer. 

Hope  ! when  I mourn,  with  sympathizing 
mind. 

The  wrongs  of  fate;  the  woes  of  human  kind, 

Thy  blissful  omens  bid  my  spirit  see 
The  boundless  fields  of  rapture  yet  to  be ; 

I watch  the  wheels  of  Nature’s  mazy  plan. 

And  learn  the  future  by  the  past  of  man. 


15 


PLEASURES  OE  nOPE. 

Come,  briglit  Improvement ! on  the  car  of 
Time, 

And  rule  the  spacious  world  from  clime  to  clime; 
Thy  handmaid  arts  shall  every  wild  explore, 
Trace  every  wave,  and  culture  every  shore. 

On  Erie’s  banks,  where  tigers  steal  along. 

And  the  dread  Indian  chants  a dismal  song, 
Where  human  fiends  on  midnight  errands  walk, 
And  bathe  in  brains  the  murderous  tomahawk, 
There  shall  the  flocks  on  thymy  pasture  stray. 
And  shepherds  dance  at  Summer’s  opening  day ; 
Each  wandering  genius  of  the  lonely  glen 
Shall  start  to  view  the  glittering  haunts  of  men. 
And  silent  watch,  on  woodland  heights  around. 
The  village  curfew  as  it  tolls  profound. 

In  Libyan  groves,  where  damned  rites  are  done, 
That  bathe  the  rocks  in  blood,  and  veil  the  sun, 
Truth  shall  arrest  the  murderous  arm  profane. 
Wild  Obi  flies — the  veil  is  rent  in  twain. 

Where  barbarous  hordes  on  Scythian  mountains 
roam. 

Truth.  Mercy,  Freedom,  yet  shall  find  a home ; 
Where’er  degraded  Nature  bleeds  and  pines. 
From  Guinea’s  coast  to  Sibir’s  dreary  mines. 
Truth  shall  pervade  th’  unfathom’d  darkness  there, 
And  light  the  dreadful  features  of  despair. — 

Hark  ! the  stern  captive  spurns  his  heavy  load, 
And  asks  the  image  bacK  that  Heaven  bestow’d  . 
Fierce  in  his  eye  the  fire  of  valour  burns. 

And,  as  the  slave  departs,  the  man  returns. 


16 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Oh ! sacred  Truth ! thy  triumph  ceased  a while, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile, 
When  leagued  Oppression  pour’d  to  Northern 
wars 

Her  whisker’d  pandoors  and  her  fierce  hussars, 
Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Peal’d  her  loud  drum,  and  twang’d  her  trumpet 
horn ; 

Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o’er  her  van. 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man ! 

Warsaw’s  last  champion  from  her  height  sur- 
vey’d, 

Wide  o’er  the  fields,  a waste  of  ruin  laid, — 

Oh ! Heaven ! he  cried,  my  bleeding  country 
save ! — 

Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 
Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  those  lovely  plains, 
Rise,  fellow-men  ! our  country  yet  remains ! 

By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high ! 
And  swear  for  her  to  live  ! — with  her  to  die ! 

He  said,  and  on  the  rampart-heights  array’d 
His  trusty  warriors,  few,  but  undismay’d ; 
Firm-paced  and  slow,  a horrid  front  they  form, 
Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm ; 
Low  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fiy. 
Revenge,  or  death, — the  watch-word  and  reply ; 
Then  peal’d  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm. 

And  the  loud  tocsin  toll’d  their  last  alarm ! — 

In  vain,  alas ! in  vain,  ye  gallant  few ! 

From  rank  to  rank  your  volley’d  thunder  flew: — 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


17 


Oil,  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  Time, 
Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a crime ; 

Found  not  a generous  friend,  a pitying  foe. 
Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  woe ! 
Dropp’d  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shatter’d 
spear. 

Closed  her  bright  eye,  and  curb’d  her  high  ca 
reer ; — 

Hope,  for  a season,  bade  the  world  farewell. 

And  Freedom  shriek’d — as  Kosciusko  fell! 

The  sun  went  down,  nor  ceased  the  carnage 
there, 

Tumultuous  Murder  shook  the  midnight  air — 

On  Prague’s  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow, 
His  blood-dyed  waters  murmuring  far  below ; 

The  storm  prevails,  the  rampart  yields  a way. 
Bursts  the  wild  cry  of  horror  and  dismay  I 
Hark,  as  the  smouldering  piles  with  thunder 
fall, 

A thousand  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call ! 
Earth  shook — red  meteors  flash’d  along  the  sky, 
And  conscious  Nature  shudder’d  at  the  cry ! 

Oh!  righteous  Heaven;  ere  Freedom  found  a 
grave, 

Why  slept  the  sword,  omnipotent  to  save  ? 

Where  was  thine  arm,  0 Vengeance!  where  thy 
rod. 

That  smote  the  foes  of  Zion  and  of  God ; 

That  crush’d  proud  Ammon,  when  his  iron  car 
Was  yoked  in  wrath,  and  thunder’d  from  afar  ? 

2 


18 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Where  was  the  storm  that  slumber’d  till  the  host 
Of  blood-stain’d  Pharaoh  left  their  trembling  coast; 
Then  bade  the  deep  in  wild  commotion  flow, 

And  heaved  an  ocean  on  their  march  below  ? 

Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead ! 

Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled ! 

Friends  of  the  world ! restore  your  swords  to  mail, 
Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van ! 

Yet  for  Sarmatia’s  tears  of  blood  atone, 

And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own ! 

Oh ! once  again  to  Freedom’s  cause  return 
The  patriot  Tell — the  Bruce  of  Bannock- 
burn ! 

Yes ! thy  proud  lords,  unpitied  land ! shall  see 
That  man  hath  yet  a soul — and  dare  be  free ! 

A little  while,  along  thy  saddening  plains, 

The  starless  night  of  Desolation  reigns ; 

Truth  shall  restore  the  light  by  Nature  given, 
And,  like  Prometheus,  bring  the  fire  of  Heaven 
Prone  to  the  dust  Oppression  shall  be  hurl’d, 

Fler  name,  her  nature,  wither’d  from  the  world ! 

Y’^e  that  the  rising  morn  invidious  mark. 

And  hate  the  light — because  your  deeds  are 
dark  ; 

Ye  that  expanding  truth  invidious  view. 

And  think,  or  wish,  the  song  of  Hope  untrue ; 
Perhaps  your  little  hands  presume  to  span 
The  march  of  Genius  and  the  powers  of  man ; 
Perhaps  ye  watch,  at  Pride’s  unhallow’d  shrine, 
Her  victims,  newly  slain,  and  thus  divine : — 


PLEASUIIKS  OF  HOPE. 


19 


^ Here  shall  tliy  triampli,  Genius,  cease,  and  here 
Truth,  Science,  Virtue,  close  your  short  career.^’ 
Tyrants ! in  vain  ye  trace  the  wizard  ring ; 

In  vain  ye  limit  Mind’s  unwearied  spring: 

What ! can  ye  lull  the  winged  winds  asleep. 
Arrest  the  rolling  world,  or  chain  the  deep  ? 

No! — the  wild  wave  contemns  your  sceptred 
hand : 

It  roll’d  not  back  when  Canute  gave  command ! 

Man  1 can  thy  doom  no  brighter  soul  allow  ? 
Still  must  thou  live  a blot  on  Nature’s  brow  ? 
Shall  war’s  polluted  banner  ne’er  be  furl’d  ? 

Shall  crimes  and  tyrants  cease  but  with  the 
world  ? 

What!  are  thy  triumphs,  sacred  Truth,  belied? 
Why  then  hath  Plato  lived — or  Sidney  died  ? 

Ye  fond  adorers  of  departed  fame. 

Who  warm  at  Scipio’s  worth,  or  Tully’s  name ! 

Ye  that,  in  fancied  vision,  can  admire 

The  sword  of  Brutus,  and  the  Theban  lyre ! 

Papt  in  historic  ardour,  who  adore 
Each  classic  haunt,  and  well-remember’d  shore, 
Where  Valour  tuned,  amidst  her  chosen  throng, 
The  Thracian  trumpet,  and  the  Spartan  song ; 
Or,  wandering  thence,  behold  the  later  charms 
Of  England’s  glory,  and  Helvetia’s  arms ! 

See  Roman  fire  in  Hampden’s  bosom  swell, 

And  fate  and  freedom  in  the  shaft  of  Tell ! 

Say,  ye  fond  zealots  to  the  worth  of  yore, 

Hath  Valour  left  the  world — to  live  no  more? 


20 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


No  more  shall  Brutus  bid  a tyrant  die, 

And  sternly  smile  with  vengeance  in  his  eye  ? 
Hampden  no  more,  when  suffering  Freedom  calls, 
Encounter  Fate,  and  triumph  as  he  falls? 

Nor  Tell  disclose,  through  peril  and  alarm. 

The  might  that  slumbers  in  a peasant’s  arm  ? 

Yes ! in  that  generous  cause,  for  ever  strong, 
The  patriot’s  virtue  and  the  poet’s  song. 

Still,  as  the  tide  of  ages  rolls  away. 

Shall  charm  the  world,  unconscious  of  decay. 

Yes ! there  are  hearts,  prophetic  Hope  may 
trust. 

That  slumber  yet  in  uncreated  dust. 

Ordain’d  to  fire  tff  adoring  sons  of  earth. 

With  every  charm  of  wisdom  and  of  worth ; 
Ordain’d  to  light,  with  intellectual  day. 

The  mazy  wheels  of  nature  as  they  play. 

Or,  warm  with  Fancy’s  energy,  to  glow. 

And  rival  all  but  Shakspeare’s  name  below. 

And  say,  supernal  Powers ! who  deeply  scan 
Heaven’s  dark  decrees,  unfathom’d  yet  by  man. 
When  shall  the  world  call  down,  to  cleanse  her 
shame. 

That  embryo  spirit,  yet  without  a name, — 

That  friend  of  Nature,  whose  avenging  hands 
Shall  burst  the  Libyan’s  adamantine  bands  ? 

Who,  sternly  marking  on  his  native  soil 
The  blood,  the  tears,  the  anguish,  and  the  toil, 
Shall  bid  each  righteous  heart  exult,  to  see 
Peace  to  the  slave,  and  vengeance  on  the  free ! 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


21 


Yet,  yet,  degraded  men ! tli’  expected  day 
That  breaks  your  bitter  cup,  is  far  away ; 

Trade,  wealth,  and  fashion,  ask  you  still  to 
bleed. 

And  holy  men  give  Scripture  for  the  deed; 
Scourged,  and  debased,  no  Briton  stoops  to  save 
A wretch,  a coward  ; yes,  because  a slave ! — 
Eternal  Nature ! when  thy  giant  hand 
Had  heaved  the  floods,  and  fix’d  the  trembling 
land, 

When  life  sprang  startling  at  thy  plastic  call, 
Endless  her  forms,  and  man  the  lord  of  all! 

Say,  was  that  lordly  form  inspired  by  thee, 

To  wear  eternal  chains  and  bow  the  knee  ? 

Was  man  ordain’d  the  slave  of  man  to  toil. 

Yoked  with  the  brutes,  and  fetter’d  to  the  soil ; 
Weigh’d  in  a tyrant’s  balance  with  his  gold? 

No ! — Nature  stamp’d  us  in  a heavenly  mould ! 
She  bade  no  wretch  his  thankless  labour  urge, 
Nor,  trembling,  take  the  pittance  and  the  scourge  I 
No  homeless  Libyan,  on  the  stormy  deep, 

To  call  upon  his  country’s  name,  and  weep  I — 

Lo ! once  in  triumph,  on  his  boundless  plain, 
The  quiver’d  chief  of  Congo  loved  to  reign ; 

With  fires  proportion’d  to  his  native  sky. 

Strength  in  his  arm,  and  lightning  in  his  eye ; 
Scour’d  with  wild  feet  his  sun-illumined  zone, 
The  spear,  the  lion,  and  the  woods,  his  own  I 
Or  led  the  combat,  bold  without  a plan, 

An  artless  savage,  but  a fearless  man  I 


22 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


The  plunderer  came ! — alas ! no  glory  smilea 
For  Congo’s  chief,  on  yonder  Indian  Isles; 

For  ever  fall’n ! no  son  of  Nature  now, 

With  Freedom  charter’d  on  his  manly  brow! 
Faint,  bleeding,  bound,  he  weeps  the  night  away. 
And  when  the  sea-wind  wafts  the  dewless  day, 
Starts,  with  a bursting  heart,  for  evermore 
To  curse  the  sun  that  lights  their  guilty  shore ! 

The  shrill  horn  blew ; at  that  alarum  knell 
Ilis  guardian  angel  took  a last  farewell ! 

That  funeral  dirge  to  darkness  hath  resign’d 
The  fiery  grandeur  of  a generous  mind  1 
Poor  fetter’d  man ! I hear  thee  whispering  low 
Unhallow’d  vows  to  Guilt,  the  child  of  Woe, 
Friendless  thy  heart;  and  canst  thou  harbour 
there 

A wish  but  death — a passion  but  despair  ? 

The  widow’d  Indian,  when  her  lord  expires. 
Mounts  the  dread  pile,  and  braves  the  funeral 
fires ! 

So  falls  the  heart  at  Thraldom’s  bitter  sigh ! 

So  Virtue  dies,  the  spouse  of  Liberty ! 

But  not  to  Libya’s  barren  climes  alone. 

To  Chili,  or  the  wild  Siberian  zone. 

Belong  the  wretched  heart  and  haggard  eye. 
Degraded  worth,  and  poor  misfortune’s  sigh ! — 
Ye  orient  realms,  where  Ganges’  waters  run ! 
Prolific  fields  ! dominions  of  the  sun  ! 

How  long  your  tribes  have  trembled  and  obeyed 
How  long  was  Timour’s  iron  sceptre  sway’d, 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


23 


Whose  marsliaird  hosts,  the  lions  of  the  plain, 
From  Scythia’s  northern  mountains  to  the  main, 
Raged  o’er  your  plunder’d  shrines  and  altars  bare, 
With  blazing  torch  and  gory  scymetar, — 

Stunn’d  with  the  cries  of  death  each  gentle  gale, 
And  bathed  in  blood  the  verdure  of  the  vale ! 

Yet  could  no  pangs  the  immortal  spirit  tame. 
When  Brama’s  children  perish’d  for  his  name; 
The  martyr  smiled  beneath  avenging  power. 

And  braved  the  tyrant  in  his  torturing  hour ! 
When  Europe  sought  your  subject  realms  to 
gain. 

And  stretch’d  her  giant  sceptre  o’er  the  main. 
Taught  her  proud  barks  the  winding  way  to  shape, 
And  braved  the  stormy  Spirit  of  the  Cape ; 
Children  of  Brama ! then  was  Mercy  nigh 
To  wash  the  stain  of  blood’s  eternal  dye  ? 

Did  Peace  descend,  to  triumph  and  to  save. 
When  freeborn  Britons  cross’d  the  Indian  wave? 
Ah,  no ! — to  more  than  Rome’s  ambition  true, 
The  Nurse  of  Freedom  gave  it  not  to  you ! 

She  the  bold  route  of  Europe’s  guilt  began. 

And,  in  the  march  of  nations,  led  the  van ! 

Rich  in  the  gems  of  India’s  gaudy  zone. 

And  plunder  piled  from  kingdoms  not  their  own. 
Degenerate  trade ! thy  minions  could  despise 
The  heart-born  anguish  of  a thousand  cries ; 
Could  lock,  with  impious  hands,  their  teeming 
store. 

While  famish’d  nations  died  along  the  shore : 


24 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Could  mock  the  groans  of  fellow-men,  and  bear 
The  curse  of  kingdoms  peopled  with  despair ; 
Could  stamp  disgrace  on  man’s  polluted  name, 
And  barter,  with  their  gold,  eternal  shame ! 

But  hark  ! as  bow’d  to  earth  the  Bramin  kneels, 
From  heavenly  climes  propitious  thunder  peals! 
Of  India’s  fate  her  guardian  spirits  tell. 

Prophetic  murmurs  breathing  on  the  shell. 

And  solemn  sounds  that  awe  the  listening  mind, 
Roll  on  the  azure  paths  of  every  wind. 

“ Foes  of  mankind!  (her  guardian  spirits  say,) 
Revolving  ages  bring  the  bitter  day, 

When  Heaven’s  unerring  arm  shall  fall  on  you. 
And  blood  for  blood  these  Indian  plains  bedew ; 
Nine  times  have  Brama’s  wheels  of  lightning 
hurl’d 

His  awful  presence  o’er  the  alarmed  world; 

Nine  times  hath  Guilt,  through  all  his  giant 
frame, 

Convulsive  trembled,  as  the  Mighty  came ; 

Nine  times  hath  suffering  Mercy  spared  in  vain — 
But  Heaven  shall  burst  her  starry  gates  again ! 
He  comes ! dread  Brama  shakes  the  sunless  sky 
With  murmuring  wrath,  and  thunders  from  on 
high, 

Heaven’s  fiery  horse,  beneath  his  warrior  form. 
Paws  the  light  clouds,  and  gallops  on  the  storm ! 
Wide  waves  his  flickering  sword ; his  bright  arms 
glow 

Like  summer  suns  and  light  the  world  below  I 


PLEASURKS  OF  HOPE. 


25 


Earth,  and  her  trembling  isles  in  Ocean’s  bed, 
Are  shook ; and  Nature  rocks  beneath  his  tread ! 

“ To  pour  redress  on  India’s  injured  realm, 
The  oppressor  to  dethrone,  the  proud  to  whelm ; 
To  chase  destruction  from  her’plunder’d  shore 
With  arts  and  arms  that  triumph’d  once  before, 
The  tenth  Avatar  comes ! at  Heaven’s  command 
Shall  Seriswattee  wave  her  hallow’d  wand ! 

And  Camdeo  bright,  and  Ganesa  sublime, 

Shall  bless  with  joy  their  own  propitious  clime  ! — 
Come,  Heavenly  Powders!  primeval  peace  restore! 
Love ! — Mercy ! — Wisdom  I — rule  for  evermore  1 ” 


■ 


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n:n^v  i ’ ,V-. : 

^ v ^:!'  'k-'l 

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PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


ANALYSIS  OF  PART  II. 


Apostrophe  to  the  power  of  Love — its  intimate  connection 
with  generous  and  social  Sensibility — allusionto  that  beauti- 
ful passage  in  the  beginning  of  the  Book  of  Genesis,  which 
represents  the  happiness  of  Paradise  itself  incomplete,  till 
love  was  superadded  to  its  other  blessings — the  dreams  of 
future  felicity  which  a lively  imagination  is  apt  to  cherish, 
when  Hope  is  animated  by  refined  attachment — this  disposi- 
tion to  combine,  in  one  imaginary  scene  of  residence,  all  that 
is  pleasing  in  our  estimate  of  happiness,  compared  to  the 
skill  of  the  groat  artist  who  personified  perfect  beaut}”,  in  the 
picture  of  Venus,  by  an  assemblage  of  the  most  beautiful 
features  he  could  find — a summer  and  winter  evening  de 
scribed,  as  they  may  be  supposed  to  arise  in  the  mind  of  one 
who  wishes,  with  enthusiasm,  for  the  union  of  friendship  and 
retirement. 

Hope  and  Imagination  inseparable  agents — even  in  those 
contemplative  moments  when  our  imagination  wanders  be- 
yond the  boundaries  of  this  world,  our  minds  are  not  unat- 
tended with  an  impression  that  we  shall  some  day  have  a 
wider  and  more  distinct  prospect  of  the  universe,  instead  of 
the  partial  glimpse  we  now  enjoy. 

The  last  and  most  sublime  influence  of  Hope  is  the  con- 
cluding topic  of  the  poem — the  predominance  of  a belief  in  a 
future  state  over  the  terrors  attendant  on  dissolution — the 
baneful  influence  of  that  sceptical  philosophy  which  bars  us 
from  such  comforts — allusion  to  the  fate  of  a suicide— episode 
of  Conrad  and  Ellenore — conclusion. 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


PART  11. 

In  joyous  youth,  what  soul  hath  never  known 
Thought,  feeling,  taste,  harmonious  to  its  own  ? 
Who  hath  not  paused  while  Beauty’s  pensive 
eye 

Ask’d  from  his  heart  the  homage  of  a sigh  ? 

Who  hath  not  own’d,  with  rapture-smitten  frame, 
The  power  of  grace,  the  magic  of  a name  ? 

There  be,  perhaps,  who  barren  hearts  avow, 
Cold  as  the  rocks  on  Torneo’s  hoary  brow ; 

There  be,  whose  loveless  wisdom  never  fail’d, 

In  self-adoring  pride  securely  mail’d : — 

But,  triumph  not,  ye  peace-enamour’d  few ! 

Fire,  Nature,  Genius,  never  dwelt  with  you  ! 

For  you  no  fancy  consecrates  the  scene 
Where  rapture  utter’d  vows,  and  wept  between  : 
’Tis  yours,  unmoved,  to  sever  and  to  meet ; 

No  pledge  is  sacred,  and  no  home  is  sweet ! 

Who  that  would  ask  a heart  to  dulness  wed, 
The  waveless  calm,  the  slumber  of  the  dead? 

No ; the  wild  bliss  of  Nature  needs  alloy. 

And  fear  and  sorrow  fan  the  fire  of  joy ! 

And  say,  without  our  hopes,  without  our  fears, 
Without  the  home  that  plighted  love  endears. 


so 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Without  the  smile  from  partial  beauty  won, 

Oh ! what  were  man  ? — a world  without  a sun. 

Till  Hymen  brought  his  love-delighted  hour, 
There  dwelt  no  joy  in  Eden’s  rosy  bower ! 

In  vain  the  viewless  seraph  lingering  there. 

At  starry  midnight  charm’d  the  silent  air ; 

In  vain  the  wild-bird  caroll’d  on  the  steep, 

To  hail  the  sun,  slow  wheeling  from  the  deep ; 

In  vain,  to  soothe  the  solitary  shade, 

Aerial  notes  in  mingling  measure  play’d ; 

The  summer  wind  that  shook  the  spangled  tree. 
The  whispering  wave,  the  murmur  of  the  bee ; — 
Still  slowly  pass’d  the  melancholy  day. 

And  still  the  stranger  wist  not  where  to  stray. 
The  world  was  sad  ! — the  garden  w’^as  a wild ! 
And  man,  the  hermit,  sigh’d — till  woman  smiled ! 

True,  the  sad  power  to  generous  hearts  may 
Delirious  anguish  on  his  fiery  wing;  [bring 

Barr’d  from  delight  by  Fate’s  untimely  hand. 

By  wealthless  lot,  or  pitiless  command : 

Or  doom’d  to  gaze  on  beauties  that  adorn 
The  smile  of  triumph  or  the  frown  of  scorn ; 
While  Memory  watches  o’er  the  sad  review 
Of  joys  that  faded  like  the  morning  dew ; 

Peace  may  depart — and  life  and  nature  seem 
A barren  path,  a wildness,  and  a dream ! 

But  can  the  noble  mind  for  ever  brood. 

The  willing  victim  of  a weary  mood. 

On  heartless  cares  that  squander  life  away. 

And  cloud  young  Genius  brightening  into  day  ? — 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


31 


Shame  to  the  coward  thought  that  e’er  betray’d 
The  noon  of  manhood  to  a myrtle  shade  ! — 

If  Hope’s  creative  spirit  cannot  raise 
One  trophy  sacred  to  thy  future  days, 

Scorn  the  dull  crowed  that  haunt  the  gloomy 
shrine, 

Of  hopeless  love  to  murmur  and  repine  ! 

But,  should  a sigh  of  milder  mood  express 
Thy  heart-warm  wishes,  true  to  happiness. 
Should  Heaven’s  fair  harbinger  delight  to  pour 
Her  blissful  visions  on  thy  pensive  hour. 

No  tear  to  blot  thy  memory’s  pictured  page, 

No  fears  but  such  as  fancy  can  assuage ; [miss 
Though  thy  wild  heart  some  hapless  hour  may 
The  peaceful  tenor  of  unvaried  bliss, 

(For  love  pursues  an  ever-devious  race, 

True  to  the  winding  lineaments  of  grace  ;) 

Yet  still  may  Hope  her  talisman  employ 
To  snatch  from  Heaven  anticipated  joy. 

And  all  her  kindred  energies  impart 
That  burn  the  brightest  in  the  purest  heart. 

When  first  the  Rhodian’s  mimic  art  array’d 
The  queen  of  Beauty  in  her  Cyprian  shade. 

The  happy  master  mingled  on  his  piece 
Each  look  that  charm’d  him  in  the  fair  of  Greece. 
To  faultless  Nature  true,  he  stole  a grace 
From  every  finer  form  and  sweeter  face ; 

And  as  he  sojourn’d  on  the  JEgean  isles. 

Woo’d  all  their  love,  and  treasured  all  their 
smiles ; 


32  PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

Then  glow’d  the  tints,  pure,  precious,  and  refined, 
And  mortal  charms  seem’d  heavenly  when  com- 
bined ! 

Love  on  the  picture  smiled ! Expression  pour’d 
Her  mingling  spirit  there — and  Greece  adored ! 

So  thy  fair  hand,  enamour’d  Fancy ! gleans 
The  treasured  pictures  of  a thousand  scenes ; 

Thy  pencil  traces  on  the  lover’s  thought 
Some  cottage-home,  from  towns  and  toil  remote, 
Where  love  and  lore  may  claim  alternate  hours, 
With  Peace  embosom’d  in  Idalian  bowers ! 
Remote  from  busy  Life’s  bewilder’d  way. 

O’er  all  his  heart  shall  Taste  and  Beauty  sway ! 
Free  on  the  sunny  slope,  or  winding  shore, 

With  hermit  steps  to  wander  and  adore ! 

There  shall  he  love,  when  genial  morn  appears, 
Like  pensive  Beauty  smiling  in  her  tears. 

To  watch  the  brightening  roses  of  the  sky, 

And  muse  on  Nature  with  a poet’s  eye ! — 

And  when  the  sun’s  last  splendour  lights  the  deep, 
The  woods  and  waves,  and  murmuring  winds 
asleep. 

When  fairy  harps  th’  Hesperian  planet  hail. 

And  the  lone  cuckoo  sighs  along  the  vale. 

His  path  shall  be  where  streamy  mountains  swell 
Their  shadowy  grandeur  o’er  the  narrow  dell. 
Where  mouldering  piles  and  forests  intervene. 
Mingling  with  darker  tints  the  living  green ; 

No  circling  hills  his  ravish’d  eye  to  bound. 
Heaven,  Earth,  and  Ocean,  blazing  all  around. 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


33 


The  moon  is  up — the  watch-tower  dimly 
burns — 

And  down  the  vale  his  sober  step  returns; 

But  pauses  oft,  as  winding  rocks  convey 
The  still  sweet  fall  of  music  far  away ; 

And  oft  he  lingers  from  his  home  awhile 
To  watch  the  dying  notes  ! — and  start,  and  smile  ! 

Let  Winter  come  ! let  polar  spirits  sweep 
The  darkening  world,  and  tempest-troubled  deep ! 
Though  boundless  snows  the  wither’d  heath  de- 
form, [storm. 

And  the  dim  sun  scarce  wanders  through  the 
Yet  shall  the  smile  of  social  love  repay. 

With  mental  light,  the  melancholy  day  ! 

And,  when  its  short  and  sullen  noon  is  o’er. 

The  ice-chain’d  waters  slumbering  on  the  shore. 

How  bright  the  fagots  in  his  little  hall 

Blaze  on  the  hearth,  and  warm  the  pictured  wall ! 

How  blest  he  names,  in  Love’s  familiar  tone. 
The  kind  fair  friend,  by  nature  mark’d  his  own ; 
And,  in  the  waveless  mirror  of  his  mind. 

Views  the  fleet  years  of  pleasure  left  behind, 
Since  when  her  empire  o’er  his  heart  began ! 
Since  first  he  call’d  her  his  before  the  holy  man ! 

Trim  the  gay  taper  in  his  rustic  dome. 

And  light  the  wintry  paradise  of  home ; 

And  let  the  half  uncurtain’d  window  hail 
Some  way-worn  man  benighted  in  the  vale ! 

Now,  while  the  moaning  night-wind  rages  high, 
As  sweep  the  shot-stars  down  the  troubled  sky, 

3 


34 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


While  fiery  hosts  in  Heaven’s  wide  circle  play, 
And  bathe  in  lurid  light  the  milky-way, 

Safe  from  the  storm,  the  meteor,  and  the  shower 
Some  pleasing  page  shall  charm  the  solemn  hour — 
With  pathos  shall  command,  with  wit  beguile, 

A generous  tear  of  anguish  or  a smile — 

Thy  woes,  Arion ! and  thy  simple  tale, 

O’er  all  the  heart  shall  triumph  and  prevail ! 
Charm’d  as  they  read  the  verse  too  sadly  true. 
How  gallant  Albert,  and  his  weary  crew. 

Heaved  all  their  guns,  their  foundering  bark  to 
save. 

And  toil’d — and  shriek’d — and  perish’d  on  the 
wave ! 

Yes,  at  the  dead  of  night,  by  Lonna’s  steep, 
The  seaman’s  cry  was  heard  along  the  deep ; 
There  on  his  funeral  waters,  dark  and  wild. 

The  dying  father  bless’d  his  darling  child ! 

Oh ! Mercy,  shield  her  innocence,  he  cried. 

Spent  on  the  prayer  his  bursting  heart,  and  died 
Or  they  will  learn  how  generous  worth  sublimes 
The  robber  Moor,  and  pleads  for  all  his  crimes ! 
How  poor  Amelia  kiss’d,  with  many  a tear. 

His  hand,  blood-stain’d,  but  ever,  ever  dear! 
Hung  on  the  tortured  bosom  of  her  lord. 

And  wept  and  pray’d  perdition  from  his  sword  1 
Nor  sought  in  vain ! at  that  heart-piercing  cry 
The  strings  of  Nature  crack’d  with  agony ! 

He,  with  delirious  laugh,  the  dagger  hurl’d. 

And  burst  the  ties  that  bound  him  to  the  world  I 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


35 


Turn  from  his  dying  words,  that  smite  with  steel 
The  shuddering  thoughts,  or  wind  them  on  the 
wheel — 

Turn  to  the  gentler  melodies  that  suit 
Thalia’s  harp,  or  Pan’s  Arcadian  lute ; 

Or,  down  the  stream  of  Truth’s  historic  page. 
From  clime  to  clime  descend,  from  age  to  age ! 

Yet  there,  perhaps,  may  darker  scenes  obtrude 
Than  Fancy  fashions  in  her  wildest  mood; 

There  shall  he  pause  with  horrent  brow,  to  rate 
What  millions  died — that  Caesar  might  be  great  I 
Or  learn  the  fate  that  bleeding  thousands  bore. 
March’d  by  their  Charles  to  Dneiper’s  swampy 
shore ; 

Faint  in  his  wounds,  and  shivering  in  the  blast. 
The  Swedish  soldier  sunk — and  groan’d  his  last ! 
File  after  file  the  stormy  showers  benumb. 

Freeze  every  standard-sheet,  and  hush  the  drum  ! 
Horseman  and  horse  confess’d  the  bitter  pang. 
And  arms  and  warriors  fell  with  hollow  clang ! 
Yet,  ere  he  sunk  in  Nature’s  last  repose. 

Ere  life’s  warm  torrent  to  the  fountain  froze. 

The  dying  man  to  Sweden  turn’d  his  eye. 
Thought  of  his  home,  and  closed  it  with  a sigh ! 
Imperial  Pride  look’d  sullen  on  his  plight. 

And  Charles  beheld — nor  shudder’d  at  the  sight 
Above,  below,  in  Ocean,  Earth,  and  Sky, 

Thy  fairy  worlds.  Imagination,  lie. 

And  Hope  attends,  companion  of  the  way. 

Thy  dream  by  night,  thy  visions  of  the  day ! 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

In  yonder  pensile  orb,  and  every  sphere 
That  gems  the  starry  girdle  of  the  year ; 

In  those  unmeasured  worlds,  she  bids  thee  tell, 
Pure  from  their  God,  created  millions  dwell, 
Whose  names  and  natures,  unreveafd  below, 

We  yet  shall  learn,  and  wonder  as  we  know; 
For,  as  Iona’s  saint,  a giant  form, 

Throned  on  her  towers,  conversing  with  the  storm, 
(When  o’er  each  Runic  altar,  weed-entwined. 
The  vesper  clock  tolls  mournful  to  the  wind,) 
Counts  every  wave-worn  isle,  and  mountain  hoar, 
From  Kilda  to  the  green  lerne’s  shore; 

So,  when  thy  pure  and  renovated  mind 
This  perishable  dust  hath  left  behind. 

Thy  seraph  eye  shall  count  the  starry  train. 

Like  distant  isles  embosom’d  in  the  main ; 

Rapt  to  the  shrine  where  motion  first  began. 

And  light  and  life  in  mingling  torrent  ran ; 

From  whence  each  bright  rotundity  was  hurl’d. 
The  throne  of  God, — the  centre  of  the  world  ! 

Oh ! vainly  wise,  the  moral  Muse  hath  sung 
That  suasive  Hope  hath  but  a Siren  tongue ! 
True ; she  may  sport  with  life’s  untutor’d  day, 
!Nor  heed  the  solace  of  its  last  decay. 

The  guileless  heart  her  happy  mansion  spurn,. 
And  part,  like  Ajut — never  to  return! 

But  yet,  methinks,  when  Wisdom  shall  assuage 
The  grief  and  passions  of  our  greener  age, 
Though  dull  the  close  of  life  and  far  away 
Each  flower  that  hail’d  the  dawning  of  the  day 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


37 


Yet  o’er  her  lovely  hopes,  that  once  were  dear, 
The  time-taught  spirit,  pensive,  not  severe. 

With  milder  griefs  her  aged  eye  shall  fill. 

And  weep  their  falsehood,  though  she  loves  them 
still! 

Thus,  with  forgiving  tears,  and  reconciled. 

The  king  of  Judah  mourn’d  his  rebel  child  I 
Musing  on  days,  when  yet  the  guiltless  boy 
Smiled  on  his  sire,  and  fill’d  his  heart  with  joy ! 
My  Absalom  I the  voice  of  Nature  cried. 

Oh  I that  for  thee  thy  father  could  have  died ! 
For  bloody  was  the  deed,  and  rashly  done, 

That  slew  my  Absalom ! — my  son ! — my  son ! 

Unfading  Hope  ! when  life’s  last  embers  burn, 
When  soul  to  soul,  and  dust  to  dust  return  1 
Heaven  to  thy  charge  resigns  the  awful  hour ! 

Oh  I then,  thy  kingdom  comes ! Immortal  Power ! 
What  though  each  spark  of  earth-born  rapture 

fly 

The  quivering  lip,  pale  cheek,  and  closing  eye ! 
Bright  to  the  soul  thy  seraph  hands  convey 
The  morning  dream  of  life’s  eternal  day — 

Then,  then,  the  triumph  and  the  trance  begin, 
And  all  the  phoenix  spirit  burns  within ! 

Oh ! deep-enchanting  prelude  to  repose. 

The  dawn  of  bliss,  the  twilight  of  our  woes  1 
Yet  half  I hear  the  panting  spirit  sigh. 

It  is  a dread  and  awful  thing  to  die  1 
Mysterious  worlds,  untravell’d  by  the  sun ! 
Where  Time’s  far-wandering  tide  has  never  run, 


38 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


From  your  unfathom’d  shades,  and  viewless 
spheres, 

A warning  comes,  unheard  by  other  ears. 

'Tis  Heaven’s  commanding  trumpet,  long  and 
loud, 

Like  Sinai’s  thunder,  pealing  from  the  cloud ! 
While  Nature  hears,  with  terror-mingled  trust, 
The  shock  that  hurls  her  fabric  to  the  dust ; 

And,  like  the  trembling  Hebrew,  when  he  trod 
The  roaring  waves,  and  call’d  upon  his  God, 
With  mortal  terrors  clouds  immortal  bliss. 

And  shrieks,  and  hovers  o’er  the  dark  abyss ! 

Daughter  of  Faith,  awake,  arise,  illume 
The  dread  unknown,  the  chaos  of  the  tomb ; 

Melt,  and  dispel,  ye  spectre-doubts,  that  roll 
Cimmerian  darkness  o’er  the  parting  soul ! 

Fly,  like  the  moon-eyed  herald  of  Dismay, 
Chased  on  his  night-steed  by  the  star  of  day ! 

The  strife  is  o’er — the  pangs  of  Nature  close, 
And  life’s  last  rapture  triumphs  o’er  her  woes. 
Hark ! as  the  spirit  eyes,  with  eagle  gaze. 

The  noon  of  Heaven  undazzled  by  the  blaze, 

On  heavenly  winds  that  waft  her  to  the  sky. 
Float  the  sweet  tones  of  star-born  melody ; 

Wild  as  that  hallow’d  anthem  sent  to  hail 
Bethlehem’s  shepherds  in  the  lonely  vale. 

When  Jordan  hush’d  his  waves,  and  midnight  still 
Watch’d  on  the  holy  towers  of  Zion  hill! 

Soul  of  the  just  1 companion  of  the  dead  I 
Whore  is  thy  home,  and  whither  art  thou  fled? 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE.  39 

/ 

Back  to  its  heavenly  source  thy  being  goes, 

Swift  as  the  comet  wheels  to  whence  he  rose ; 
Doom’d  on  his  airy  path  a while  to  burn, 

And  doom’d,  like  thee,  to  travel,  and  return. — 
Hark  ! from  the  world’s  exploding  centre  driven. 
With  sounds  that  shook  the  firmament  of  Heaven, 
Careers  the  fiery  giant,  fast  and  far. 

On  bickering  wheels,  and  adamantine  car ; 

From  planet  whirl’d  to  planet  more  remote, 

He  visits  realms  beyond  the  reach  of  thought ; 
But  wheeling  homeward,  when  his  course  is  run. 
Curbs  the  red  yoke,  and  mingles  with  the  sun ! 

So  hath  the  traveller  of  earth  unfurl’d 

Her  trembling  wings,  emerging  from  the  world ; 

And  o’er  the  path  by  mortal  never  trod, 

Sprung  to  her  source,  the  bosom  of  her  God ! 

Oh ! lives  there,  Heaven,  beneath  thy  dread 
One  hopeless,  dark  idolater  of  Chance,  [expanse. 
Content  to  feed,  with  pleasures  unrefined. 

The  lukewarm  passions  of  a lowly  mind ; 

Who,  mouldering  earthward,  ’reft  of  every  trust, 
In  joyless  union  wedded  to  the  dust. 

Could  all  his  parting  energy  dismiss. 

And  call  this  barren  world  sufiicient  bliss  ? — 
There  live,  alas ! of  heaven-directed  mien. 

Of  cultured  soul,  and  sapient  eye  serene. 

Who  hail  thee,  Man ! the  pilgrim  of  a day. 
Spouse  of  the  worm,  and  brother  of  the  clay. 

Frail  as  the  leaf  in  Autumn’s  yellow  bower, 

*^ust  in  the  wind,  or  dew  upon  the  fiower ; 


40 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE, 


A friendless  slave,  a child  whhout  a sire, 

Whose  mortal  life  and  momentary  fire, 

Light  to  the  grave  his  chance-created  form, 

As  ocean-wrecks  illuminate  the  storm ; 

And,  when  the  gun’s  tremendous  flash  is  o’er, 

To  night  and  silence  sink  for  evermore ! — 

Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  demi-gods  of  Fame? 

Is  this  your  triumph — this  your  proud  applause, 
Children  of  Truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause 
For  this  hath  Science  search’d,  on  weary  wing. 
By  shore  and  sea — each  mute  and  living  thing ! 
Launch’d  with  Iberia’s  pilot  from  the  steep. 

To  worlds  unknown,  and  isles  beyond  the  deep  ? 
Or  round  the  cope  her  living  chariot  driven. 

And  wheel’d  in  triumph  through  the  signs  of 
Heaven. 

Oh  ! star-eyed  Science,  hast  thou  wander’d  there. 
To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  despair? 

Then  bind  the  palm,  thy  sage’s  brow  to  suit, 

Of  blasted  leaf,  and  death-distilling  fruit ! 

Ah  me ! the  laurell’d  wreath  that  Murder  rears. 
Blood-nursed,  and  water’d  by  the  widow’s  tears. 
Seems  not  so  foul,  so  tainted,  and  so  dread. 

As  waves  the  night-shade  round  the  sceptic 
head. 

What  is  the  bigot’s  torch,  the  tyrant’s  chain  ? 

I smile  on  death,  if  Heavenward  Hope  remain 
But,  if  the  warring  winds  of  Nature’s  strife 
Be  all  the  faithless  charter  of  my  life, 


TLEASUKES  OF  OOPE. 


41 


If  Chance  awaked,  inexorable  power, 

Til  is  frail  and  feverish  being  of  an  liour; 

Doom’d  o’er  the  world’s  jirecai-ions  scene  to  sweep, 
Swift  as  the  tempest  tiavels  on  the  deep, 

To  know  Delight  but  by  her  parting  smile, 

And  toil,  and  wish,  and  weep  a little  while; 

Then  melt,  ye  elements,  that  form’d  in  vain 
7'his  troubled  pulse,  and  visionary  brain ! 

Fade,  ye  wild  flowers,  memorials  of  my  doom, 
And  sink,  ye  stars,  that  light  me  to  the  tomb ! 
Truth,  ever  lovely, — since  the  world  began. 

The  foe  of  tyrants,  and  the  friend  of  man, — 

How  can  thy  words  from  balmy  slumber  start 
Reposing  Virtue,  pillow’d  on  the  heart ! 

Yet,  if  thy  voice  the  note  of  thunder  roll’d, 

And  that  were  true  which  Nature  never  told, 

Let  Wisdom  smile  not  on  her  conquer’d  field : 

No  rapture  dawns,  no  treasure  is  reveal’d ! 

Oh ! let  her  read,  nor  loudly,  nor  elate. 

The  doom  that  bars  us  from  a better  fate ; 

But,  sad  as  angels  for  the  good  man’s  sin. 

Weep  to  record,  and  blush  to  give  it  in ! 

And  well  may  Doubt,  the  mother  of  Dismay, 

.1-  ause  at  her  martyr’s  tomb,  and  read  the  lay. 
Down  by  the  wilds  of  yon  deserted  vale. 

It  darkly  hints  a melancholy  tale ! 

There  as  the  homeless  madman  sits  alone. 

In  hollow  winds  he  hears  a spirit  moan ! ^ 

And  there,  they  say,  a wizard  orgie  crowds. 

When  the  Moon  lights  her  watch-tower  in  the 
clouds. 


12 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Poor  lost  Alonzo ! Fate’s  neglected  child ! 

Mild  be  the  doom  of  Heaven — as  thou  wert  mild! 
For  oh!  thy  heart  in  holy  mould  was  cast, 

And  all  thy  deeds  were  blameless,  but  the  last. 
Poor  lost  Alonzo  I still  I seem  to  hear 
The  clod  that  struck  thy  hollow-sounding  bier ! 
When  Friendship  paid,  in  speechless  sorrow 
drown’d. 

Thy  midnight  rites,  but  not  on  hallow’d  ground  * 
Cease,  every  joy,  to  glimmer  on  my  mind. 

But  leave — oh  I leave  the  light  of  Hope  behind ! 
What  though  my  winged  hours  of  bliss  have  been, 
Like  angel-visits,  few  and  far  between. 

Her  musing  mood  shall  every  pang  appease, 

And  charm — when  pleasures  lose  the  power  to 
please  I 

Yes ; let  each  rapture,  dear  to  Nature,  flee : 

Close  not  the  light  of  Fortune’s  stormy  sea — 
Mirth,  Music,  Friendship,  Love’s  propitious  smile, 
Chase  every  care,  and  charm  a little  while. 
Ecstatic  throbs  the  fluttering  heart  employ. 

And  all  her  strings  are  harmonized  to  joy  I — 

But  why  so  short  is  Love’s  delighted  hour  ? 

Why  fades  the  dew  on  Beauty’s  sweetest  flower  ? 
Why  can  no  hymned  charm  of  music  heal 
The  sleepless  woes  impassion’d  spirits  feel  ? 

Can  Fancy’s  fairy  hands  no  veil  create. 

To  hide  the  sad  realities  of  fate  ? — 

No  I not  the  quaint  remark,  the  sapient  rule. 
Nor  all  the  pride  of  Wisdom’s  worldly  school, 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


48 


Have  power  to  soothe,  unaided  and  alone, 

The  heart  that  vibrates  to  a feeling  tone ! 

When  stepdame  Nature  every  bliss  recalls, 

Fleet  as  the  meteor  o’er  the  desert  falls ; 

When,  ’reft  of  all,  yon  widow’d  sire  appears 
A lonely  hermit  in  the  vale  of  years ; 

Say,  can  the  world  one  joyous  thought  bestow 
To  P’riendship,  weeping  at  the  couch  of  Woe? 
No ! but  a brighter  soothes  the  last  adieu, — 
Souls  of  impassion’d  mould,  she  speaks  to  you ! 
Weep  not,  she  says,  at  Nature’s  transient  pain, 
Congenial  spirits  part  to  meet  again ! 

What  plaintive  sobs  thy  filial  spirit  drew. 
What  sorrow  choked  thy  long  and  last  adieu ! 
Daughter  of  Conrad  ? when  he  heard  his  knell, 
And  bade  his  country  and  his  child  farewell 
Doom’d  the  long  isles  of  Sidney-cove  to  see, 

The  martyr  of  his  crimes,  but  true  to  thee  ? 
Thrice  the  sad  father  tore  thee  from  his  heart, 
And  thrice  return’d,  to  bless  thee,  and  to  part ; 
Thrice  from  his  trembling  lips  he  murmur’d 
low 

The  plaint  that  own’d  unutterable  woe ; 

Till  Faith,  prevailing  o’er  his  sullen  doom, 

As  bursts  the  morn  on  night’s  unfathom’d  gloom. 
Lured  his  dim  eye  to  deathless  hopes  sublime. 
Beyond  the  realms  of  Nature  and  of  Time ! 
“And  weep  not  thus,”  he  cried,  “young  Eh 
lenore. 

My  bosom  bleeds,  but  soon  shall  bleed  no  more ! 


44 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Short  shall  this  half-extinguish’d  spirit  burn, 

And  soon  these  limbs  to  kindred  dust  return ! 

But  not,  my  child,  with  life’s  precarious  fire, 

The  immortal  ties  of  Nature  shall  expire ; 

These  shall  resist  the  triumph  of  decay. 

When  time  is  o’er,  and  worlds  have  pass’d  away 
Cold  in  the  dust  this  perish’d  heart  may  lie, 

But  that  which  warm’d  it  once  shall  never  die ! 
That  spark  unburied  in  its  mortal  frame, 

With  living  light,  eternal,  and  the  same. 

Shall  beam  on  Joy’s  interminable  years. 

Unveil’d  by  darkness — unassuaged  by  tears ! 

Yet,  on  the  barren  shore  and  stormy  deep. 
One  tedious  watch  is  Conrad  doom’d  to  weep ; 
But  when  I gain  the  home  wdthout  a friend. 

And  press  the  uneasy  couch  where  none  attend. 
This  last  embrace,  still  cherish’d  in  my  heart. 
Shall  calm  the  struggling  spirit  ere  it  part ! 

Thy  darling  form  shall  seem  to  hover  nigh. 

And  hush  the  groan  of  life’s  last  agony ! 

Farewell ! when  strangers  lift  thy  father’s  bier. 
And  place  my  nameless  stone  without  a tear ; 
When  each  returning  pledge  hath  told  my  child 
That  Conrad’s  tomb  is  on  the  desert  piled ; 

And  when  the  dream  of  troubled  Fancy  sees 
Its  lonely  rank  grass  waving  in  the  breeze ; 

Who  then  will  soothe  thy  grief,  when  mine  is  o’eT 
Who  will  protect  thee,  helpless  Ellenore  ? 

Shall  secret  scenes  thy  filial  sorrows  hide. 

Scorn’d  by  the  world,  to  factious  guilt  allied  ? 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


45 


Ah  ! no ; methinks  the  generous  and  the  good 
Will  woo  thee  from  the  shades  of  solitude ! 

O’er  friendless  grief  Compassion  shall  awake, 
And  smile  on  innocence,  for  Mercy’s  sake ! ” 
Inspiring  thought  of  rapture  yet  to  be. 

The  tears  of  Love  were  hopeless,  but  for  thee  ? 
If  in  that  frame  no  deathless  spirit  dwell, 

If  that  faint  murmur  be  the  last  farewell. 

If  Fate  unite  the  faithful  but  to  part, 

Why  is  their  memory  sacred  to  the  heart? 

Why  does  the  brother  of  my  childhood  seem 
Restored  a while  in  every  pleasing  dream  ? 

Why  do  I joy  the  lonely  spot  to  view. 

By  artless  friendship  bless’d  when  life  was  new  ? 

Eternal  Hope  ! when  yonder  spheres  sublime 
Peal’d  their  first  notes  to  sound  the  march  of  Time, 
Thy  joyous  youth  began — but  not  to  fade. — 
When  all  the  sister  planets  have  decay’d ; 

When  wrapt  in  fire  the  realms  of  ether  glow, 

And  Heaven’s  last  thunder  shakes  the  world  below ; 
Thou,  undismay’d,  shalt  o’er  the  ruins  smile, 

And  light  thy  torch  at  Nature’s  funeral  pile. 


46 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


“ The  Pleasures  of  Hope  ” has  now  passed  through  nearly 
one  hundred  editions,  been  translated  into  all  the  chief  con- 
tinental languages,  for  many  years  been  in  use  in  school  and 
college  as  a model  for  imitation,  and  is  now  familiar  in  the 
mouths  of  our  millions  as  “ household  words;  ” so  that  pane 
gyric  or  criticism  may  be  here  considered  quite  out  of  place. 

No  first  production  by  any  poet  was  ever  more  enthusiastic- 
ally received,  nor  did  any  poem  ever  bring  its  author  so  large 
a pecuniary  recompense:  true  it  is  the  copyright  was  origin- 
ally sold  for  the  small  sum  of  50Z.,  to  the  firm  of  Mundell  & 
Co.,  the  publishers  of  Edinburgh;  yet  these  gentlemen,  acting 
in  a most  praiseworthy  spirit,  presented  its  author  with  25/. 
upon  the  appearance  of  every  edition  of  one  thousand  copies ; 
and  indeed,  to  their  credit  be  it  recorded,  after  publication  of 
the  sixth  edition,  they  allowed  him  to  print  one  on  his  own 
account,  by  subscription ; this,  of  itself,  produced  600/.  Un- 
happily, some  misunderstanding  afterwards  arose,  which 
caused  the  discontinuance  of  these  douceurs;  yet  on  the 
whole  first  seven  editions  Campbell  received  for  his  1100 
lines  no  less  a sum  than  900/. 

The  work  itself,  besides  having  the  rare  merit  in  that  ago 
of  metrical  accuracy,  great  strength  combined  with  natural 
simplicity  of  style  and  peculiar  sweetness,  had  this  further 
advantage  in  its  favour,  that  the  subjects  interwoven  with  it 
were  the  very  matters  at  the  time  peculiarly  before  the  eye 
of  the  public;  the  great  revolution  in  France,  the  partition  of 
Poland,  the  abolition  of  negro  slavery,  all  stood  out  in  bold 
relief;  and  by  the  judicious  way  in  which  they  were  handled, 
became,  as  it  were,  the  property  of  the  writer,  and  awoke  a 
responsive  echo  in  the  bosoms  of  tens  of  thousands. 

“ ‘ The  Pleasures  of  Hope  ’ appeared  exactly  when  I was 
twenty-one  years  and  nine  months  old.  It  gave  me  a general 
acquaintance  in  Edinburgh.  Dr.  Gregory,  Henry  Mackenzie, 
the  author  of  the  ‘Man  of  Feeling;’  Dugald  Stewart,  the 
Rev.  Archibald  Alison,  the  ‘Man  of  Taste,’  and  fhomas 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


47 


Telford,  the  engineer,  became  my  immediate  patrons.” — Note 
from  CampbelVs  Autobiography. 

Campbell’s  acquaintance  in  Edinburgh,  as  he  observes,  was 
now  general;  and,  to  the  list  of  distinguished  friends  already 
mentioned,  were  now  added  the  names  of  Gillies,  Henry 
Erskine,  and  Laing,  the  historian.  There  were  many  young 
men  of  talent,  nevertheless,  to  whom  he  was  still  unknown, 
unless  by  the  growing  reputation  of  his  Poem.  Walter  Scott 
and  he  were  already  acquainted ; but  to  introduce  him  to  the 
dite  of  his  own  private  circle,  Scott  invited  him  to  dinner. 
On  his  aiTival  at  the  hour  appointed,  Campbell  met  a strong 
muster  of  Mr.  Scott’s  friends,  among  whom  he  was  rather 
surprised  to  find  himself  a stranger.  No  introduction  took 
place;  but  the  subjects  of  conversation  and  the  ability  with 
which  they  were  discussed,  showed  clearly  that  the  guests, 
among  whom  he  sat  at  table,  were  men  of  genius  and  talent. 
Great  harmony  prevailed;  and  where  Scott  presided,  the  con* 
versation  was  sure  to  be  edifying  as  well  as  pleasant.  At 
length,  when  the  cloth  was  removed  and  the  loyal  toasts  were 
disposed  of,  Scott  stood  up,  and,  with  a handsome  and  com- 
plimentary notice  of  the  new  poem,  proposed  a bumper  to 
the  “Author  of  the  Pleasures  of  Hope.”  “The  poem,”  he 
added,  “is  in  the  hands  of  all  our  friends;  and  the  poet,” 
pointing  to  a young  gentleman  on  his  right,  “ I have  now  the 
high  honour  of  introducing  to  you  as  my  guest.” 

The  toast  was  received  with  enthusiasm.  The  eyes  of  the 
company  were  fixed  on  the  young  p et,  and,  although  taken 
by  surprise,  he  acknowledged  the  compliment  with  so  much 
good  taste  and  feeling,  that  after  hearing  him  speak,  no  one 
felt  surprised  that  so  young  a man  had  written  “ The  Plea- 
sures of  Hope.” 


THEODRIC: 

A DOMESTIC  TALE. 


4 


THEODRIC. 


Twas  sunset,  and  the  Ranz  des  Vaches  was  sung, 
And  lights  were  o’er  th’  Helvetian  mountains  flung, 
That  gave  the  glacier  tops  their  richest  glow, 

And  tinged  the  lakes  like  molten  gold  below ; 
Warmth  flush’d  the  wonted  regions  of  the  storm, 
Where,  Phcenix-like,  you  saw  the  eagle’s  form 
That  high  in  Heaven’s  vermilion  wheel’d  and 
soar’d,  [roar’d 

Woods  nearer  frown’d,  and  cataracts  dash’d  and 
From  heights  browsed  by  the  bounding  bouquetin; 
Herds  tinkling  roam'd  the  long-drawn  vales  be- 
tween, 

And  hamlets  glitter’d  white,  and  gardens  flourish’d 
green : 

’Twas  transport  to  inhale  the  bright  sweet  air ! 
The  mountain-bee  was  rev  ling  in  its  glare, 

And  roving  with  his  minstrelsy  across 
The  scented  wild  weeds,  and  enamell’d  moss. 
Earth’s  features  so  harmoniously  were  link’d, 

She  seem’d  one  great  glad  form,  with  life  instinct, 
That  felt  Heaven’s  ardent  breath,  and  smile^i 
below 

Its  flush  of  love,  with  consentaneous  glow. 

A Gothic  church  was  near ; the  spot  around 
Was  beautiful,  ev’n  though  sepulchral  ground. 


52 


THEODRIC. 


For  there  nor  yew  nor  cypress  spread  their  gloom. 
But  roses  blossom’d  by  each  rustic  tomb. 

Amidst  them  one  of  spotless  marble  shone — 

A maiden’s  grave — and  ’twas  inscribed  thereon, 
That  young  and  loved  she  died  whose  dust  was 
there : [fair ! 

Yes,”  said  my  comrade,  “ young  she  died,  and 
Grace  form’d  her,  and  the  soul  of  gladness  play’d 
Once  in  the  blue  eyes  of  that  mountain-maid : 
Her  fingers  witch’d  the  chords  they  pass’d  along, 
And  her  lips  seem’d  to  kiss  the  soul  in  song : 

Yet  woo’d,  and  worshipp’d  as  she  was,  till  few 
Aspired  to  hope,  ’twas  sadly,  strangely  true. 

That  heart,  the  martyr  of  its  fondness,  burn’d 
And  died  of  love  that  could  not  bo  return’d. 

Her  father  dwelt  where  yonder  Castle  shines 
O’er  clustering  trees  and  terrace-mantling  vines : 
As  gay  as  ever,  the  laburnum’s  pride 
Waves  o’er  each  walk  where  she  was  wont  to 
glide,— 

And  still  the  garden  whence  she  graced  her  brow 
As  lovely  blooms,  though  trode  by  strangers  now. 
How  oft,  from  yonder  window  o’er  the  lake, 

Her  song  of  wild  Helvetian  swell  and  shake 
Has  made  the  rudest  fisher  bend  his  ear. 

And  rest  enchanted  on  his  oar  to  hear ! 

Thus  bright,  accomplish’d,  spirited,  and  bland, 
Well-born,  and  wealthy  for  that  simple  land, 

Why  had  no  gallant  native  youth  the  art 
To  win  so  warm — so  exquisite  a heart? 


THEODRIC. 


63 


She,  ’midst  these  rocks  inspired  with  feelings  strong 
By  mountain-freedom — music — fancy — song, 
Herself  descended  from  the  brave  in  arms, 

And  conscious  of  romance-inspiring  charms. 
Dreamt  of  Heroic  beings ; hoped  to  find 
Some  extant  spirit  of  chivalric  kind  ; 

And  scorning  wealth,  look’d  cold  ev’n  on  the  claim 
Of  manly  worth,  that  lack’d  the  wreath  of  fame. 

Her  younger  brother,  sixteen  summers  old. 
And  much  her  likeness  both  in  mind  and  mould. 
Had  gone,  poor  boy ! in  soldiership  to  shine, 

And  bore  an  Austrian  banner  on  the  Rhine. 
’Twas  when,  alas ! our  Empire’s  evil  star 
Shed  all  the  plagues,  without  the  pride  of  war ; 
When  patriots  bled,  and  bitterer  anguish  cross’d 
Our  brave,  to  die  in  battles  foully  lost. 

The  youth  wrote  home  the  rout  of  many  a day ; 
Yet  still  he  said,  and  still  with  truth  could  say, 
One  corps  had  ever  made  a valiant  stand, — 

The  corps  in  which  he  served, — Theodric’s  band. 
His  fame,  forgotten  chief ! is  now  gone  by. 
Eclipsed  by  brighter  orbs  in  Glory’s  sky ; 

Yet  once  it  shone,  and  veterans,  when  they  show 
Our  fields  of  battle  twenty  years  ago. 

Will  tell  you  feats  his  small  brigade  perform’d, 
In  charges  nobly  faced  and  trenches  storm’d. 
Time  was,  when  songs  were  chanted  to  his  fame, 
And  soldiers  loved  the  march  that  bore  his  name 
The  zeal  of  martial  hearts  was  at  his  call. 

And  that  Helvetian’s,  Udolph’s,  most  of  all. 


54 


THEODRIC. 


'Twas  touching,  when  the  storm  of  war  blew 
wild, 

To  see  a blooming  boy, — almost  a child, — 

Spur  fearless  at  his  leader’s  words  and  signs, 
Brave  death  in  reconnoitring  hostile  lines. 

And  speed  each  task,  and  tell  each  message  clear. 
In  scenes  where  war-train’d  men  were  stunn’d  with 
fear. 

Theodric  praised  him,  and  they  wept  for  joy 
In  yonder  house, — when  letters  from  the  boy 
Thank’d  Heaven  for  life,  and  more,  to  use  his 
phrase, 

Than  twenty  lives — his  own  Commander’s  praise. 
Then  follow’d  glowing  pages,  blazoning  forth 
The  fancied  image  of  his  leader’s  worth. 

With  such  hyperboles  of  youthful  style 
As  made  his  parents  dry  their  tears  and  smile : 
But  differently  far  his  words  impress’d 
A wondering  sister’s  well-believing  breast ; — 

She  caught  th’  illusion,  bless’d  Theodric’s  name, 
And  wildly  magnified  his  worth  and  fame ; 
Rejoicing  life’s  reality  contain’d 
One,  heretofore,  her  fancy  had  but  feign’d, 

Whose  love  could  make  her  proud ! — and  time  and 
chance 

To  passion  raised  that  day-dream  of  Romance. 

Once,  when  with  hasty  charge  of  horse  and  man 
Our  arriere-guard  had  check’d  the  Gallic  van, 
Theodric,  visiting  the  outposts,  found 
His  Udolph  wounded,  weltering  on  the  ground* 


TIIEODRIC. 


55 


Sore  crush’d, — half-swoonirig,  half-upraised  he  lay, 
And  bent  his  brow,  fair  boy  ! and  grasp’d  the  clay 
His  fate  moved  ev’n  the  common  soldier’s  ruth — 
Theodric  succour’d  him;  nor  left  the  youth 
To  vulgar  hands,  but  brought  him  to  his  tent. 
And  lent  what  aid  a brother  would  have  lent. 

Meanwhile,  to  save  his  kindred  half  the  smart 
The  war-gazette’s  dread  blood-roll  might  impart, 
He  wrote  th’  event  to  them ; and  soon  could  tell 
Of  pains  assuaged  and  symptoms  auguring  well ; 
And  last  of  all,  prognosticating  cure, 

Enclosed  the  leech’s  vouching  signature. 

Their  answers,  on  whose  pages  you  might  note 
That  teai  s hadfall’n,  whilst  trembling  fingers  wrote, 
Gave  boundless  thanks  for  benefits  conferred, 

Of  which  the  boy,  in  secret,  sent  them  word. 
Whose  memory  Time,  they  said,  would  never  blot ; 
But  which  the  giver  had  himself  forgot. 

In  time,  the  stripling,  vigorous  and  heal’d. 
Resumed  his  barb  and  banner  in  the  field, 

And  bore  himself  right  soldier-like,  till  now 
The  third  campaign  had  manlier  bronzed  his 
brow, 

When  peace,  though  but  a scanty  pause  for 
breath, — 

A curtain-drop  between  the  acts  of  death, — 

A check  in  frantic  war’s  unfinish’d  game, 

Tet  dearly  bought,  and  direly  welcome,  came. 

The  camp  broke  up,  and  Udolpii  left  his  chief 
As  with  a son’s  or  younger  brother’s  grief ; 


56 


THEODRIC. 


But  journeying  home,  how  rapt  his  spirits  rose ! 
How  light  his  footsteps  crush’d  St.  Gothard’s 
snows ; [horn, 

Ilow  dear  seem’d  ev’n  the  waste  and  wild  Shreck- 
Though  wrapt  in  clouds,  and  frowning  as  in  scorn 
Upon  a downward  world  of  pastoral  charms ; 
^yhere,  by  the  very  smell  of  dairy-farms, 

And  fragrance  from  the  mountain-herbage  blown, 
Blindfold  his  native  hills  he  could  have  known ! 

His  coming  down  yon  lake, — his  boat  in  view 
Of  windows  where  love’s  fluttering  kerchief 

flew, — [burst, — 

The  arms  spread  out  for  him — the  tears  that 
(’Twas  Julia’s,  ’twas  his  sister’s,  met  him  first :) 
Their  pride  to  see  war’s  medal  at  his  breast, 

And  all  their  rapture’s  greeting,  may  be  guess’d. 

P]re  long,  his  bosom  triumph’d  to  unfold 
A gift  he  meant  their  gayest  room  to  hold, — 

The  picture  of  a friend  in  warlike  dress ; 

And  who  it  was  he  first  bade  Julia  guess. 

•Yes,’  she  replied,  ‘’twas  he  methought  in  sleep, 
When  you  were  wounded,  told  me  not  to  weep.’ 
The  painting  long  in  that  sweet  mansion  drew 
Regards  its  living  semblance  little  knew. 

Meanwhile  Theodric,  who  had  years  before 
Learnt  England’s  tongue,  and  loved  her  classic 
lore, 

A glad  enthusiast  now  explored  the  land, 

Where  Nature,  Freedom,  Art,  smile  hand  in 
hand ; 


THEODRIC. 


57 


Her  women  fair ; her  men  robust  for  toil ; 

Her  vigorous  souls,  high-cultured  as  her  soil ; 
Her  towns,  where  civic  independence  flings 
The  gauntlet  down  to  senates,  courts,  and  kings ; 
Her  works  of  art,  resembling  magic’s  powers ; 
Her  mighty  fleets,  and  learning’s  beauteous  bow- 
ers,— 

These  he  had  visited,  with  wonder’s  smile, 

And  scarce  endured  to  quit  so  fair  an  isle. 

But  how  our  fates  from  unmomentous  things 
May  rise,  like  rivers  out  of  little  springs ! 

A trivial  chance  postponed  his  parting  day, 

And  public  tidings  caused,  in  that  delay. 

An  English  Jubilee.  ’Twas  a glorious  sight! 

At  eve  stupendous  London,  clad  in  light. 

Pour’d  out  triumphant  multitudes  to  gaze ; 

Youth,  age,  wealth,  penury,  smiling  in  the  blaze; 
Th’  illumined  atmosphere  was  warm  and  bland, 
And  Beauty’s  groups,  the  fairest  of  the  land. 
Conspicuous,  as  in  some  wide  festive  room. 

In  open  chariots  pass’d  with  pearl  and  plume. 
Amidst  them  he  remark’d  a lovelier  mien 
Than  e’er  his  thoughts  had  shaped,  or  eyes  had 
seen ; 

The  throng  detain’d  her  till  he  rein’d  his  steed. 
And,  ere  the  beauty  pass’d,  had  time  to  read 
The  motto  and  the  arms  her  carriage  bore. 

Led  by  that  clue,  he  left  not  England’s  shore 
Till  he  had  known  her ; and  to  know  her  well 
Prolong’d,  exalted,  bound,  enchantment’s  spell, 


58 


THEODRIC. 


For  with  affections  warm,  intense,  refined, 

She  mix’d  such  calm  and  holy  strength  of  mind, 
That,  like  Heaven’s  image  in  the  smiling  brook, 
Celestial  peace  was  pictured  in  her  look. 

Hers  was  the  brow,  in  trials  unperplex’d. 

That  cheer’d  the  sad,  and  tranquillized  the  vex’d; 
She  studied  not  the  meanest  to  eclipse. 

And  yet  the  wisest  listen’d  to  her  lips ; 

She  sang  not,  knew  not  Music’s  magic  skill. 

But  yet  her  voice  had  tones  that  sway’d  the  will. 
He  sought — he  won  her — and  resolved  to  make 
His  future  home  in  England  for  her  sake. 

Yet,  ere  they  wedded,  matters  of  concern 
To  Cesar’s  Court  commanded  his  return, 

A season’s  space, — and  on  his  Alpine  way, — 

He  reach’d  those  bowers,  that  rang  with  joy  that 
day: 

The  boy  was  half  beside  himself, — the  sire. 

All  frankness,  honour,  and  Helvetian  fire. 

Of  speedy  parting  would  not  hear  him  speak ; 
And  tears  bedew’d  and  brighten’d  Julia’s  cheek. 

Thus,  loth  to  wound  their  hospitable  pride, 

A month  he  promised  with  them  to  abide ; 

As  blithe  he  trod  the  mountain-sward  as  they. 
And  felt  his  joy  make  ev’n  the  young  more  gay. 
How  jocund  was  their  breakfast-parlour,  fann’d 
By  yon  blue  water’s  breath, — their  walks  how 
bland ! 

Fair  Julia  seem’d  her  brother’s  soften’d  sprite — 
A.  gem  reflecting  Nature’s  purest  light, — 


TIIEODRIC. 


59 


And  with  her  graceful  wit  there  was  inwrought 
A wildly  sweet  unworldliness  of  thought, 

That  almost  child-like  to  his  kindness  drew, 

And  twin  with  Udolph  in  his  friendship  grew. 
But  did  his  thoughts  to  love  one  moment  range? — 
No ! he  who  had  loved  Constance  could  not 
change ! 

Besides,  till  grief  betray’d  her  undesign’d, 

Th’  unlikely  thought  could  scarcely  reach  his  mind, 
That  eyes  so  young  on  years  like  his  should  beam 
Unwoo’d  devotion  back  for  pure  esteem. 

True  she  sang  to  his  very  soul,  and  brought 
Those  trains  before  him  of  luxuriant  thought, 
AVhich  only  Music’s  heaven -born  art  can  bring. 
To  sweep  across  the  mind  with  angel  wing. 

Once,  as  he  smiled  amidst  that  waking  trance, 
She  paus’d  o’ercome,  he  thought  it  might  be 
chance, 

And,  when  his  first  suspicions  dimly  stole, 
Rebuked  them  back  like  phantoms  from  his  soul 
But  when  he  saw  his  caution  gave  her  pain. 

And  kindness  brought  suspense’s  rack  again, 
Faith,  honour,  friendship,  bound  him  to  unmask 
Truths  which  her  timid  fondness  fear’d  to  ask. 

And  yet  with  gracefully  ingenuous  power 
Her  spirit  met  th’  explanatory  hour ; — 

Ev’n  conscious  beauty  brighten’d  in  her  eyes, 
That  told  she  knew  their  love  no  vulgar  prize  i 
And  pride  like  that  of  one  more  woman-grown, 
Enlarg’d  her  mien,  enrich’d  her  voice’s  tone. 


60 


THEODRIC. 


‘Twas  then  she  struck  the  keys,  and  music  made 
That  mock’d  all  skill  her  hand  had  e’er  display’d 
Inspired  and  warbling,  rapt  from  things  around, 
She  look’d  the  very  Muse  of  magic  sound. 
Painting  in  sound  the  forms  of  joy  and  woe. 
Until  the  mind’s  eye  saw  them  melt  and  glow. 
Her  closing  strain  composed  and  calm  she  play’d. 
And  sang  no  words  to  give  its  pathos  aid ; 

But  grief  seem’d  lingering  in  its  lengthen’d  swell, 
And  like  so  many  tears  the  trickling  touches  felL 
Of  Constance  then  she  heard  Theodric  speak, 
And  steadfast  smoothness  still  possess’d  her  cheek 
But  when  he  told  her  how  he  oft  had  plann’d 
Of  old  a journey  to  their  mountain-land. 

That  might  have  brought  him  hither  years  before, 
‘Ah ! then,’  she  cried,  ‘ you  knew  not  England’s 
shore ! 

And  had  you  come, — and  wherefore  did  you  not  ? ’ 
‘ Yes,’  he  replied,  ‘it  would  have  changed  our  lot !’ 
Then  burst  her  tears  through  pride’s  restraining 
bands, 

And  with  her  handkerchief,  and  both  her  hands, 
She  hid  her  voice  and  wept. — Contrition  stung 
Theodric  for  the  tears  his  words  had  wrung. 

‘ But  no,’  she  cried,  ‘ unsay  not  what  you  ’ve  said, 
Nor  grudge  one  prop  on  which  my  pride  is  stay’d , 
To  think  I could  have  merited  your  faith 
Shall  be  my  solace  even  unto  death ! ’ 

Julia,’  Theodric  said,  with  purposed  look 
Of  firmness,  ‘ my  reply  deserved  rebuke ; 


THEODRIC. 


61 


But  by  your  pure  and  sacred  peace  of  mind, 

And  by  the  dignity  of  womankind, 

Swear  that  when  I am  gone  you  ’ll  do  your  best 
To  chase  this  dream  of  fondness  from  your  breast.’ 

Th’  abrupt  appeal  electrified  her  thought ; — 
She  look’d  to  Heav’n  as  if  its  aid  she  sought. 
Dried  hastily  the  tear-drops  from  her  cheek. 

And  signified  the  vow  she  could  not  speak. 

Ere  long  he  communed  with  her  mother  mild : 
‘Alas!’  she  said,  ‘I  warn’d — conjured  my  child. 
And  grieved  for  this  affection  from  the  first. 

But  like  fatality  it  has  been  nursed ; 

For  when  her  fill’d  eyes  on  your  picture  fix’d. 
And  when  your  name  in  all  she  spoke  was  mix’d, 
’Twas  hard  to  chide  an  over-grateful  mind ! 

Then  each  attempt  a likelier  choice  to  find 
Made  only  fresh-rejected  suitors  grieve. 

And  Udolph’s  pride — perhaps  her  own — believe 
That,  could  she  meet,  she  might  enchant  ev’n  you. 
You  came. — I augur’d  the  event,  ’tis  true, 

But  how  was  Udolph’s  mother  to  exclude 
The  guest  that  claim’d  our  boundless  gratitude  ? 
And  that  unconscious  you  had  cast  a spell 
On  Julia’s  peace,  my  pride  refused  to  tell : 

Yet  in  my  child’s  illusion  I have  seen. 

Believe  me  well,  how  blameless  you  have  been: 
Nor  can  it  cancel,  howsoe’er  it  end. 

Our  debt  of  friendship  to  our  boy’s  best  fiiend.’ 
At  night  he  parted  with  the  aged  pair ; 

A.t  early  morn  rose  Julia  to  prepare 


62 


THEODRIC. 


The  last  repast  her  hands  for  him  should  make ; 
And  Udolph  to  convoy  him  o’er  the  lake. 

The  parting  was  to  her  such  bitter  grief, 

That  of  her  own  accord  she  made  it  brief ; 

But,  lingering  at  her  window,  long  survey’d 
His  boat’s  last  glimpses  melting  into  shade. 

Theodric  sped  to  Austriaj  and  achieved 
His  journey’s  object.  Much  was  he  relieved 
When  Udolph’ s letters  told  that  Julia’s  mind 
Had  borne  his  loss,  firm,  tranquil,  and  resign’d. 
He  took  the  Rhenish  route  to  England,  high 
Elate  with  hopes,  fulfill’d  their  ecstasy. 

And  interchanged  with  Constance’s  own  breath 
The  sweet  eternal  vows  that  bound  their  faith. 

To  paint  that  being  to  a grovelling  mind 
Were  like  portraying  pictures  to  the  blind. 

’Twas  needful  ev’n  infectiously  to  feel 
Her  temper’s  fond  and  firm  and  gladsome  zeal, 
To  share  existence  with  her,  and  to  gain 
Sparks  from  her  love’s  electrifying  chain 
Of  that  pure  pride,  which,  lessening  to  her  breast 
Life’s  ills,  gave  all  its  joys  a treble  zest. 

Before  the  mind  completely  understood 
That  mighty  truth — how  happy  are  the  good ! 

Ev’n  when  her  light  forsook  him,  it  bequeathed 
Ennobling  sorrow ; and  her  memory  breathed 
A sweetness  that  survived  her  living  days. 

As  odorous  scents  outlast  the  censer’s  blaze. 

Or,  if  a trouble  dimm’d  their  golden  joy, 

Twas  outward  dross,  and  not  infused  alloy : 


THEODRIC. 


63 


Their  home  knew  but  affection’s  looks  and  speech — 
A little  Heaven,  above  dissension’s  reach. 

But  ’midst  her  kindred  there  was  strife  and  gall ; 
Save  one  congenial  sister,  they  were  all 
Such  foils  to  her  bright  intellect  and  grace. 

As  if  she  had  engross’d  the  virtue  of  her  race. 
Her  nature  strove  th’  unnatural  feuds  to  heal, 
Her  wisdom  made  the  weak  to  her  appeal ; 

And,  though  the  wounds  she  cured  were  soon 
unclosed, 

Unwearied  still  her  kindness  interposed. 

Oft  on  those  errands  though  she  went  in  vain, 
And  home,  a blank  without  her,  gave  him  pain. 
He  bore  her  absence  for  its  pious  end. — 

But  public  grief  his  spirit  came  to  bend ; 

For  war  laid  waste  his  native  land  once  more. 
And  German  honour  bled  at  every  pore. 

Oh ! were  he  there,  he  thought,  to  rally  back 
One  broken  band,  or  perish  in  the  wrack ! 

Nor  think  that  Constance  sought  to  move  and 
melt 

His  purpose : like  herself  she  spoke  and  felt : — 

‘ Your  fame  is  mine,  and  I will  bear  all  woe 
Except  its  loss ! — but  with  you  let  me  go 
To  arm  you  for,  to  embrace  you  from,  the  fight ; 
Harm  will  not  reach  me — hazards  will  delight ! 
He  knew  those  hazards  better ; one  campaign 
In  England  he  conjured  her  to  remain. 

And  she  express’d  assent,  although  her  heart 
fn  secret  had  resolved  they  should  not  part. 


64 


THEODRIC. 


How  oft  the  wisest  on  misfortune’s  shelves 
Are  wreck’d  by  errors  most  unlike  themselves? 
That  little  fault,  that  fraud  of  love’s  romance, 
That  plan’s  concealment,  wrought  their  whole 
mischance. 

He  knew  it  not  preparing  to  embark. 

But  felt  extinct  his  comfort’s  latest  spark. 

When,  ’midst  those  number’d  days,  she  made  repair 
Again  to  kindred  worthless  of  her  care. 

’Tis  true  she  said  the  tidings  she  would  write 
Would  make  her  absence  on  his  heart  sit  light ; 
But,  haplessly,  reveal’d  not  yet  her  plan. 

And  left  him  in  his  home  a lonely  man.  [past : 

Thus  damp’d  in  thoughts,  he  mused  upon  the 
’Twas  long  since  he  had  heard  from  Udolph  last, 
And  deep  misgivings  on  his  spirit  fell 
That  all  with  Udolph’s  household  was  not  well. 
’Twas  that  too  true  prophetic  mood  of  fear 
That  augurs  griefs  inevitably  near. 

Yet  makes  them  not  less  startling  to  the  mind 
When  come.  Least  look’d-for  then  of  human  kind 
His  Udolph  (’twas,he  thought  at  first,  his  sprite,) 
With  mournful  joy  that  morn  surprised  his  sight. 
How  changed  was  Udolph!  Scarce  Theodric 
durst 

Inquire  his  tidings, — he  reveal’d  the  worst. 

‘At  first,’  he  said,  ‘ as  Julia  bade  me  tell. 

She  bore  her  fate  high-mindedly  and  well, 
Resolved  from  common  eyes  her  grief  to  hide, 
Knd  from  the  world’s  compassion  saved  our  pride , 


THEODRIC. 


65 


But  still  her  health  gave  way  to  secret  woe, 

And  long  she  pined — for  broken  hearts  die  slow  ! 
Her  reason  went,  but  came  returning,  like 
The  warning  of  her  deatli-hour — soon  to  strike ; 
And  all  for  which  she  now,  poor  sufferer!  sighs. 
Is  once  to  see  Tiieodhic  ere  she  dies. 

Why  should  I come  to  tell  you  this  caprice  ? 
Forgive  me ! for  my  mind  has  lost  its  peace. 

I blame  myself,  and  ne’er  shall  cease  to  blame, 
That  my  insane  ambition  for  the  name 
Of  brother  to  Theodric,  founded  all 
Those  high-built  hopes  that  crush’d  her  by  theii 
fall. 

I made  her  slight  her  mother’s  counsel  sage, 

But  now  my  parents  droop  with  grief  and  age : 
And,  though  my  sister’s  eyes  mean  no  rebuke. 
They  overwhelm  me  with  their  dying  look. 

The  journey ’s  long,  but  you  are  full  of  ruth ; 

And  she  who  shares  your  heart,  and  knows  its 
Has  faith  in  your  affection,  far  above  [truth. 
The  fear  of  a poor  dying  object’^  love.’ — 

‘ She  has,  my  Udolph,’  he  replied,  ‘ ’tis  true  ; 
And  oft  we  talk  of  Julia — oft  of  you.’ 

Their  converse  came  abruptly  to  a close ; 

For  scarce  could  each  his  troubled  looks  compose, 
When  visitants,  to  Constance  near  akin, 

(In  all  but  traits  of  soul,)  were  usher’d  in. 

They  brought  not  her,  nor  ’midst  their  kindred 
band 

The  sister  who  alone,  like  her,  was  bland ; 

5 


66 


THEODKIC. 


But  said — and  smiled  to  see  it  gave  him  pain — 
That  Constance  would  a fortnight  yet  remain. 
Vex’d  by  their  tidings,  and  the  haughty  view 
They  cast  on  Udolph  as  the  youth  withdrew, 
Theodric  blamed  his  Constance’s  intent. — 
The  demons  went,  and  left  him  as  they  went 
To  read,  when  they  were  gone  beyond  recall, 

A note  from  her  loved  hand  explaining  all. 

She  said,  that  with  their  house  she  only  staid 
That  parting  peace  might  with  them  all  be  made ; 
But  pray’d  for  leave  to  share  his  foreign  life, 

And  shun  all  future  chance  of  kindred  strife. 

He  wrote  with  speed,  his  soul’s  consent  to  say : 
The  letter  miss’d  her  on  her  homeward  way. 

In  six  hours  Constance  was  within  his  arms : 
Moved,  flush’d,  unlike  her  wonted  calm  of  charms, 
And  breathless — with  uplifted  hands  outspread — 
Burst  into  tears  upon  his  neck,  and  said, — 

‘ I knew  that  those  who  brought  your  message 
laugh’d. 

With  poison  of  their  own  to  point  the  shaft ; 

And  this  my  own  kind  sister  thought,  yet  loth 
Confess’d  she  fear’d  ’twas  true  you  had  been 
wroth. 

But  here  you  are,  and  smile  on  me : my  pain 
Is  gone,  and  Constance  is  herself  again.’ 

His  ecstasy,  it  may  be  guess’d,  was  much: 

Yet  pain’s  extreme  and  pleasure’s  seem’d  to  touch 
What  pride!  embracing  beauty’s  perfect  mould; 
What  terror  I lest  his  few  rash  words  mistold 


THEODKIC. 


67 


Mad  agonized  her  pulse  to  fever’s  heat : 
l>Lit  calm’d  again  so  soon  it  healthful  beat, 

And  such  sweet  tones  were  in  her  voice’s  sound, 
Composed  herself,  she  breathed  composure  round. 

Fair  being!  with  what  sympathetic  grace 
She  heard,  bewail’d,  and  pleaded  Julia’s  case ; 
Implored  he  would  her  dying  wish  attend, 

‘And  go,’  she  said,  ‘ to-morrow  with  your  friend  ; 
I’ll  wait  for  your  return  on  England’s  shore, 

And  then  we  ’ll  cross  the  deep,  and  part  no  more/ 
To-morrow  both  his  soul’s  compassion  drew 
To  Julia’s  call,  and  Constance  urged  anew 
That  not  to  heed  her  now  would  be  to  bind 
A load  of  pain  for  life  upon  his  mind. 

He  went  with  Udolph — from  his  Constance 
went — 

Stifling,  alas  ! a dark  presentiment  [mock 

Some  ailment  lurk’d,  ev’n  whilst  she  smiled,  to 
His  fears  of  harm  from  yester-morning’s  shock. 
Meanwhile  a faithful  page  he  singled  out. 

To  watch  at  home,  and  follow  straight  his  route. 

If  aught  of  threaten’d  change  her  health  should 
show. 

— With  Udolph  then  he  reach’d  the  house  of  woe. 

That  winter’s  eve,  how  darkly  Nature’s  brow 
Scowl’d  on  the  scenes  it  lights  so  lovely  now  1 
The  tempest,  raging  o’er  the  realms  of  ice. 

Shook  fragments  from  the  rifted  precipice ; 

And,  whilst  their  falling  echoed  to  the  wind. 

The  wolf’s  long  howl  in  dismal  discord  join’d. 


68 


THEODRIC. 


While  white  yon  water’s  foam  was  raised  in  clouds 
That  whirl’d  like  spirits  wailing  in  their  shrouds 
Without  was  Nature’s  elemental  din — 

And  beauty  died,  and  friendship  wept,  within ! 

Sweet  Julia,  though  her  fate  was  finish’d  half 
Still  knew  him — smiled  on  him  with  feeble  laugh — 
And  bless’d  him,  till  she  drew  her  latest  sigh ! 

But  lo  ! while  Udolph’s  bursts  of  agony, 

Aaid  age’s  tremulous  wailings,  round  him  rose. 
What  accents  pierced  him  deeper  yet  than  those ! 
’Twas  tidings,  by  his  English  messenger. 

Of  Constance — brief  and  terrible  they  were. 
She  still  was  living  when  the  page  set  out 
From  home,  but  whether  now  was  left  in  doubt. 
Poor  Julia  ! saw  he  then  thy  death’s  relief — 
Stunn’d  into  stupor  more  than  wrung  with  grief  ? 
It  was  not  strange ; for  in  the  human  breast 
Two  master-passions  cannot  coexist. 

And  that  alarm  which  now  usurp’d  his  brain 
Shut  out  not  only  peace,  but  other  pain. 

’Twas  fancying  Constance  underneath  the  shroud 
That  cover’d  Julia  made  him  first  weep  loud. 
And  tear  himself  away  from  them  that  wept. 

Fast  hurrying  homeward,  night  nor  day  he  slept, 
Till,  launch’d  at  sea,  he  dreamt  that  his  soul’s  saint 
Clung  to  him  on  a bridge  of  ice,  pale,  faint. 

O’er  cataracts  of  blood.  Awake,  he  bless’d 
The  shore ; nor  hope  left  utterly  his  breast, 

Till  reaching  home,  terrific  omen  ! there 
The  straw-laid  street  preluded  his  despair — 


THEODRIC. 


69 


The  servant’s  look — the  table  that  reveal’d 
His  letter  sent  to  Constance  last,  still  seal’d — 
Though  speech  and  hearing  left  him,  told  too  clear 
That  he  had  now  to  suffer — not  to  fear. 

He  felt  as  if  he  ne’er  should  cease  to  feel — 

A wretch  live-broken  on  misfortune’s  wheel : 

Her  death’s  cause — he  might  make  his  peace  with 
Heaven, 

Absolved  from  guilt,  but  never  self-forgiven. 

The  ocean  has  its  ebbings — so  has  grief ; 

’Twas  vent  to  anguish,  if  ’twas  not  relief, 

To  lay  his  brow  ev’n  on  her  death-cold  cheek. 
Then  first  he  heard  her  one  kind  sister  speak : 
She  bade  him,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  forbear 
With  self-reproach  to  deepen  his  despair: 

‘’Twas  blame,’  she  said,  ‘I  shudder  to  relate, 
But  none  of  yours,  that  caused  our  darling’s  fate ; 
Her  mother  (must  I call  her  such  ?)  foresaw. 
Should  Constance  leave  the  land,  she  would 
withdraw 

Our  House’s  charm  against  the  world’s  neglect — 
The  only  gem  that  drew  it  some  respect. 

Hence,  when  you  went,  she  came  and  vainly  spoke 
To  change  her  purpose — grew  incensed.^  and  broke 
With  execrations  from  her  kneeling  child. 

Start  not ! your  angel  from  her  knee  rose  mild. 
Fear’d  that  she  should  not  long  the  scene  outlive; 
Yet  bade  ev’n  you  th’  unnatural  one  forgive. 

Till  then  her  ailment  had  been  slight,  or  none ; 
But  fast  she  droop’d,  and  fatal  pains  came  on : 


70 


THEODRIC. 


Foreseeing  their  event,  she  dictated  [said — 

And  sign’d  these  words  for  you.’  The  letter 
‘ Tiieodric,  this  is  destiny  above 
Our  power  to  baffle ; bear  it  then,  my  love ! 

Rave  not  to  learn  the  usage  I have  borne, 

For  one  true  sister  left  me  not  forlorn ; 

And  though  you  ’re  absent  in  another  land. 

Sent  from  me  by  my  own  well-meant  command, 
Your  soul,  I know,  as  firm  is  knit  to  mine 
As  these  clasp’d  hands  in  blessing  you  now  join : 
Shape  not  imagined  horrors  in  my  fate — 

Ev’n  now  my  sufferings  are  not  very  great ; 

And  when  your  grief’s  first  transports  shall  subside, 
I call  upon  your  strength  of  soul  and  pride 
To  pay  my  memory,  if  ’tis  worth  the  debt. 

Love’s  glorying  tribute — ^not  forlorn  regret : 

I charge  my  name  with  power  to  conjure  up 
Reflection’s  balmy,  not  its  bitter  cup. 

My  pardoning  angel,  at  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
Shall  look  not  more  regard  than  you  have  given 
To  me ; and  our  life’s  union  has  been  clad 
In  smiles  of  bliss  as  sweet  as  life  e’er  had. 

Shall  gloom  be  from  such  bright  remembrance  cast? 
Shall  bitterness  outflow  from  sweetness  past  ? 

No ! imaged  in  the  sanctuary  of  your  breast, 
There  let  me  smile,  amidst  high  thoughts  at  rest 
And  let  contentment  on  your  spirit  shine. 

As  if  its  peace  were  still  a part  of  mine : 

For  if  you  war  not  proudly  with  your  pain. 

For  you  I shall  have  worse  than  lived  in  vain. 


THEODRIC. 


71 


But  I conjure  your  manliness  to  bear 
My  loss  with  noble  spirit — not  despair ; 

1 ask  you  by  our  love  to  promise  this, 

And  kiss  these  words,  where  I have  left  a kiss, — 
The  latest  from  my  living  lips  for  yours/ — 
Words  that  will  solace  him  while  life  endures: 
For  though  his  spirit  from  affliction’s  surge 
Could  ne’er  to  life,  as  life  had  been,  emerge. 

Yet  still  that  mind  whose  harmony  elate 
Rang  sweetness,  even  beneath  the  crush  of  fate, — 
That  mind  in  whose  regard  all  things  were  placed 
In  views  that  soften’d  them,  or  lights  that  graced, 
That  soul’s  example  could  not  but  dispense 
A portion  of  its  own  bless’d  influence ; 

Invoking  him  to  peace  and  that  self-sway 
Which  Fortune  cannot  give,  nor  take  away: 

And  though  he  mourn’d  her  long,  ’twas  with  such 
woe 

As  if  her  spirit  watch’d  him  still  below.” 


72 


THEODRia 


This  appears  to  have  originated  on  the  occasion  of  the 
poet’s  visit  to  Germany  in  1820,  though  the  idea  remained  in 
embryo  until  1824. 

In  July  of  that  year,  Campbell,  for  the  first  time,  announced 
to  a friend  this  work  in  the  following  terms : — “ I have  a new 
poem — ‘ Theodric  ’ — a very  domestic  story,  finished  in  about 
five  hundred  lines,  common  heroic  rhyme,  so-so,  I think.  I 
am  rather  in  good  heart  about  it,  though  not  over  sanguine.” 
In  writing  to  his  sister,  he  says : “ I am  sorry  there  should  be 
any  great  expectation  excited  about  the  poem,  which  is  not 
of  a nature  to  gratify  such  expectation.  It  is  truly  a domestic 
and  private  story.  I know  very  well  what  will  be  its  fate: 
there  will  be  an  outcry  and  regret  that  there  is  nothing  grand 
or  romantic  in  the  poem,  and  that  it  is  too  humble  and  fami- 
liar. But  I am  prepared  for  this ; and  I also  know  that  when 
it  recovers  from  the  first  buzz  of  such  criticism,  it  will  attain 
a steady  popularity.” 

“ Theodric  ” appeared  in  the  month  of  November,  and  was 
received  with  a coldness  which  deeply  wounded  Campbell’s 
sensitiveness,  nor  did  he  live  to  see  it  attain  the  popularity 
he  anticipated.  It  has  well  been  said  that  “ a popular  author 
has  no  rival  so  formidable  as  his  former  self,  and  no  compari- 
son to  sustain  half  so  dangerous  as  that  which  is  always  made 
between  the  average  merit  of  his  new  work  and  the  remem- 
bered beauties  of  his  old  ones.” 

“ Theodric  ” is  in  every  way  a “ domestic  story,”  and  has 
been  described  by  the  Edinburgh  Review  of  January,  1825, 
as  an  attempt  at  a very  difficult  kind  of  poetry,  and  one  in 
which  the  most  complete  success  can  hardly  ever  be  so  splen- 
did gnd  striking  as  to  make  amends  for  the  difficulty.  “ It  is 
entitled  *A  domestic  story,’ — and  it  is  so — turning  upon  few 
incidents — embracing  few  characters — dealing  in  no  marvels 
and  no  terrors — displaying  no  stormy  passions — without  com- 
plication of  plot,  or  hurry  of  action — with  no  atrocities  to 
shudder  at,  or  feats  of  noble  daring  to  stir  the  spirits  of  the 


THEODRIC. 


73 


Bmbitious, — it  passes  quietly  on  through  the  shaded  paths  of 
private  life,  conversing  with  gentle  natures  and  patient  suffer- 
ings, and  unfolding,  with  serene  pity  and  sober  triumph,  the 
pangs  which  are  fated  at  times  to  wring  the  breast  of  inno- 
cence and  generosity,  and  the  courage  and  comfort  which 
generosity  and  innocence  can  never  fail  to  bestow.  The  taste 
and  the  feeling  whicli  led  to  the  selection  of  such  topics  could 
not  but  impress  their  character  on  the  style  in  which  they 
are  treated.  It  is  distinguished  accordingly  by  a fine  and 
tender  finish  both  of  thought  and  of  diction;  by  a chastened 
elegance  of  words  and  images ; a mild  dignity  and  tempered 
pathos  in  the  sentiments,  and  a general  tone  of  simplicity  and 
directness  in  the  conduct  of  the  story,  which,  joined  to  its 
great  brevity,  tends  at  first  perhaps  to  disguise  both  the  rich- 
ness and  the  force  of  the  genius  required  for  its  production. 
But  though  not  calculated  to  strike  at  once  on  the  dull  pallid 
ear  of  an  idle  and  occupied  world,  it  is  of  all  others,  perhaps, 
the  kind  of  poetry  best  fitted  to  win  on  our  softer  hours,  and 
to  sink  deep  into  vacant  bosoms,  unlocking  all  the  sources 
of  fond  recollection,  and  leading  us  gently  on  through  the 
mazes  of  deep  and  engrossing  meditation,  and  thus  minister- 
ing to  a deeper  enchantment  and  more  lasting  delight  than 
caivever  be  inspired  by  the  louder  and  more  importunate 
strains  of  more  ambitious  authors. 

“ There  are,  no  doubt,  peculiar,  and  perhaps  insuperable, 
diflSculties  in  the  management  of  themes  so  delicate,  and 
requiring  so  fine  and  so  restrained  a hand : nor  are  we  pre- 
pared to  say  that  Mr.  Campbell  has  on  this  occasion  entirely 
escaped  them.  There  are  passages  that  are  somewhat  fade.^ 
there  are  expressions  that  are  trivial ; but  the  prevailing  cka^ 
racter  is  sweetness  and  beauty,  and  it  prevails  over  all  that 
is  opposed  to  it.” 

In  judging  of  this  poem,  it  should  not  be  concealed  that  it 
was  written  during  intense  anxiety  touching  the  malady 
which  at  that  time  threatened  his  only  surviving  child,  and 
though  “ Theodric  ” has  failed  to  add  another  wreath  to 
Campbell’s  laurels,  yet  it  must  be  conceded  there  do  shine 
•n  it  brilliant  fiashes  of  genius  which  relieve  its  hasty  transi- 
tions and  thv^  simplicity  of  the  subject. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


[The  follDwing  are  a few  only  of  Campbell’s  Translations 
from  the  Greek;  they  were  written  at  the  age  of  sixteen, 
during  his  collegiate  career,  and  their  beauty  and  elegance 
went  far  to  win  for  him  the  notice  and  friendship  of  the  Pro- 
fessors.] 


MARTIAL  ELEGY. 

FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  TYRT^US. 

How  glorious  fall  the  valiant,  sword  in  hand, 

In  front  of  battle  for  their  native  land ! 

But  oh ! what  ills  await  the  wretch  that  yields, 

A recreant  outcast  from  his  country’s  fields ! 

The  mother  whom  he  loves  shall  quit  her  home, 
An  aged  father  at  his  side  shall  roam ; 

His  little  ones  shall  weeping  with  him  go. 

And  a young  wife  participate  his  woe ; 

While  scorn’d  a»d  scowl’d  upon  by  every  face. 
They  pine  for  food,  and  beg  from  place  to  place. 

Stain  of  his  breed!  dishonouring  manhood’s 
form. 

All  ills  shall  cleave  to  him : — Affliction’s  storm 
Shall  blind  him  wandering  in  the  vale  of  years, 
Till,  lost  to  all  but  ignominious  fears, 


MARTIAL  ELEGY. 


75 


He  shall  not  blush  to  leave  a recreant’s  name, 
And  children,  like  himself,  inured  to  shame. 

But  we  will  combat  for  our  fathers’  land. 

And  we  will  drain  the  life-blood  where  we  stand, 
To  save  our  children : — fight  ye  side  by  side. 

And  serried  close,  ye  men  of  youthful  pride, 
Disdaining  fear,  and  deeming  light  the  cost 
Of  life  itself  in  glorious  battle  lost. 

Leave  not  our  sires  to  stem  the  unequal  fight, 
Whose  limbs  are  nerved  no  more  with  buoyant 
might ; 

Nor,  lagging  backward,  let  the  younger  breast 
Permit  the  man  of  age  (a  sight  unbless’d) 

To  welter  in  the  combat’s  foremost  thrust. 

His  hoary  head  dishevell’d  in  the  dust. 

And  venerable  bosom  bleeding  bare. 


But  youth’s  fair  form,  though  fallen,  is  ever  fail, 
And  beautiful  in  death  the  boy  appears, 

The  hero  boy,  that  dies  in  blooming  years : 

In  man’s  regret  he  lives,  and  woman’s  tears. 
More  sacred  than  in  life,  and  lovelier  far, 

For  having  perish’d  in  the  front  of  war. 


76 


SONG  OF  HYBRIAS  THE  CRETAN. 

My  wealth ’s  a burly  spear  and  brand, 

And  a right  good  shield  of  hides  untann’d, 
Which  on  my  arm  I buckle : 

With  these  I plough,  I reap,  I sow. 

With  these  I make  the  sweet  vintage  flow, 
And  all  around  me  truckle. 

But  your  wights  that  take  no  pride  to  wield 
A massy  spear  and  well-made  shield. 

Nor  joy  to  draw  the  sword : 

Oh,  I bring  those  heartless,  hapless  drones, 
Down  in  a trice  on  their  marrow-bones. 

To  call  me  King  and  Lord. 


FRAGMENT. 

FKOM  THE  GREEK  OF  ALCMAN. 

The  mountain  summits  sleep:  glens,  cliffs,  and 
caves 

Are  silent — all  the  black  earth’s  reptile  brood — 
The  bees — the  wild  beasts  of  the  mountain  wood : 
In  depths  beneath  the  dark  red  ocean’s  waves 
Its  monsters  rest,  whilst  wrapt  in  bower  and 
spray  [the  day. 

Each  bird  is  hush’d  that  stretch’d  its  pinions  to 


77 


SPECIMENS  OF  TRANSLATIONS  FROM 
MEDEA. 

S/cflioOf  6e  At  ywv,  Kovdev  ti  oocpovc 
Tov(  TTpoai&e  ppoTov^  ova  av  up,apTOLg, 

Med'^a,  v.  194,  p.  33,  Glasg.  edit. 

Tell  me,  ye  bards,  whose  skill  sublime 
First  charm’d  the  ear  of  youthful  Time, 
With  numbers  wrapt  in  heavenly  fire, 

Who  bade  delighted  Echo  swell 
The  trembling  transports  of  the  lyre. 

The  murmur  of  the  shell — 

Why  to  the  burst  of  Joy  alone 
Accords  sweet  Music’s  soothing  tone  ? 

Why  can  no  bard,  with  magic  strain, 

In  slumbers  steep  the  heart  of  pain  ? 

While  varied  tones  obey  your  sweep. 

The  mild,  the  plaintive,  and  the  deep. 

Bends  not  despairing  Grief  to  hear 
Your  golden  lute,  with  ravish’d  ear  ? 

Has  all  your  art  no  power  to  bind 
The  fiercer  pangs  that  shake  the  mind. 

And  lull  the  wrath  at  whose  command 
Murder  bares  her  gory  hand  ? 

When  fiush’d  with  joy,  the  rosy  throng 
Weave  the  light  dance,  ye  swell  the  song! 
Cease,  ye  vain  warblers  I cease  to  charm  1 
The  breast  with  other  raptures  warm ! 

Cease  I till  your  hand  with  magic  strain 
In  slumbers  steep  the  heart  of  pain ! 


78 


SPEECH  OF  THE  uHOEUS, 

IN  TKE  SAME  TRAGEDY, 

TO  DISSUADE  MEDEA  FROM  HER  PURPOSE  OF  PUTTING  THtfl 
CHILDREN  TO  DEATH,  AND  FLYING  FOR 
PROTECTION  TO  ATHENS. 

0 HAGGARD  queen ! to  Athens  dost  thou  guide 
Thy  glowing  chariot,  steep’d  in  kindred  gore ; 

Or  seek  to  hide  thy  foul  infanticide 

Where  Peace  and  Mercy  dwell  for  evermore  r 

The  land  where  Truth,  pure,  precious,  and  sublime, 
Woos  the  deep  silence  of  sequester’d  bowers, 

And  warriors,  matchless  since  the  first  of  time. 
Rear  their  bright  banners  o’er  unconquer’d 
towers ! 

Where  joyous  youth,  to  Music’s  mellow  strain. 
Twines  in  the  dance  with  nymphs  for  ever  fair, 

While  Spring  eternal  on  the  lilied  plain. 

Waves  amber  radiance  through  the  fields  of  air! 

The  tuneful  Nine  (so  sacred  legends  tell)  [among 
First  waked  their  heavenly  lyre  these  scenes 

Still  in  your  greenwood  bowers  they  love  to  dwell ; 
Still  in  your  vales  they  swell  the  choral  song  I 

Hut  there  the  tuneful,  chaste,  Pierian  fair. 

The  guardian  nymphs  of  green  Parnassus,  now 

Sprung  from  Harmonia,  while  her  graceful  hair 
Waved  in  high  auburn  o’er  her  polish’d  brow  I 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MEDEA* 


79 


ANTISTROPHE  I. 

Where  silent  vales,  and  glades  of  green  array, 
The  murmuring  wreaths  of  cool  Cephisus  lave, 

There,  as  the  muse  hath  sung,  at  noon  of  day, 
The  Queen  of  Beauty  bow’d  to  taste  the  wave ; 

And  bless’d  the  stream,  and  breathed  across  the 
land  [bowers ; 

The  soft  sweet  gale  that  fans  yon  summer 

And  there  the  sister  Loves,  a smiling  band. 
Crown’d  with  the  fragrant  wreaths  of  rosy 
flowers ! 

‘‘And  go,”  she  cries,  “ in  yonder  valleys  rove. 
With  Beauty’s  torch  the  solemn  scenes  illume ; 

Wake  in  each  eye  the  radiant  light  of  Love, 
Breathe  on  each  cheek  young  Passion’s  tender 
bloom ! 

Entwine,  with  myrtle  chains,  your  soft  controul, 
To  sway  the  hearts  of  Freedom’s  darling  kind ! 

With  glowing  charms  enrapture  Wisdom’s  soul. 
And  mould  to  grace  ethereal  Virtue’s  mind.” 


STROPHE  II. 

The  land  where  Heaven’s  own  hallowed  waters 
play,  [good, 

Where  friendship  binds  the  generous  and  the 
Say,  shall  it  hail  thee  from  thy  frantic  way. 
Unholy  woman ! with  thy  hands  embrued 


80 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MEDEA. 


In  thine  own  children’s  gore ! Oh ! ere  they  bleed, 
Let  Nature’s  voice  thy  ruthless  heart  appall ! 
Pause  at  the  bold,  irrevocable  deed — 

The  mother  strikes — the  guiltless  babes  shall 
fall! 

Think  what  remorse  thy  maddening  thoughts  shall 
sting, 

When  dying  pangs  their  gentle  bosoms  tear ! 
Where  shalt  thou  sink,  when  lingering  echoes  ring 
The  screams  of  horror  in  thy  tortured  ear? 

No ! let  thy  bosom  melt  to  Pity’s  cry, — 

In  dust  we  kneel— by  sacred  Heaven  implore — 
O ! stop  thy  lifted  arm,  ere  yet  they  die. 

Nor  dip  thy  horrid  hands  in  infant  gore ! 


ANTISTROPHE  II. 

Say,  how  shalt  thou  that  barbarous  soul  assume. 
Undamp’d  by  horror  at  the  daring  plan  ? 

Hast  thou  a heart  to  work  thy  children’s  doom  ? 
Or  hands  to  finish  what  thy  wrath  began  ? 

When  o’er  each  babe  you  look  a last  adieu. 

And  gaze  on  Innocence  that  smiles  asleep. 
Shall  no  fond  feeling  beat  to  Nature  true. 

Charm  thee  to  pensive  thought — and  bid  thee 
weep  ? 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MEDEA. 


81 


When  the  young  suppliants  clasp  their  parent 
dear, 

Heave  the  deep  sob,  and  pour  the  artless 
prayer — 

Ay!  thou  shalt  melt; — and  many  a heart-shed 
tear 

Gush  o’er  the  harden’d  features  of  despair  I 

Nature  shall  throb  in  every  tender  string, — 

Thy  trembling  heart  the  ruffian’s  task  deny ; — 

Thy  horror-smitten  hands  afar  shall  fling 

The  blade,  undrench’d  in  blood’s  eternal  dye. 


CHORUS. 

Hallow’d  Earth ! with  indignation 
Mark,  oh  mark,  the  murderous  deed  1 

Radiant  eye  of  wide  creation. 

Watch  th’  accurs’d  infanticide ! 

Yet,  ere  Colchia’s  rugged  daughter 
Perpetrate  the  dire  design. 

And  consign  to  kindred  slaughter 
Children  of  thy  golden  line  I 

Shall  mortal  hand,  with  murder  gory, 
Cause  immortal  blood  to  flow  ? 

Sun  of  Heaven  I — array’d  in  glory 
Rise,  forbid,  avert  the  blow  I 
6 


82 


TRA.NSLATIONS  FROM  MEDEA. 


In  the  vales  of  placid  gladness 
Let  no  rueful  maniac  range ; 

Chase  afar  the  fiend  of  Madness, 

Wrest  the  dagger  from  Revenge ! 

Say,  hast  thou,  with  kind  protection, 
Rear’d  thy  smiling  race  in  vain ; 

Fostering  Nature’s  fond  affection. 
Tender  cares,  and  pleasing  pain  ? 

Hast  thou,  on  the  tinubled  ocean. 
Braved  the  tempest  loud  and  strong. 

Where  the  waves,  in  wild  commotion, 
Roar  Cyanean  rocks  among? 

Didst  thou  roam  the  paths  of  danger, 
Hymenean  joys  to  prove  ? 

Spare,  0 sanguinary  stranger, 

Pledges  of  thy  sacred  love ! 

Ask  not  Heaven’s  commiseration. 
After  thou  hast  done  the  deed ; 

Mercy,  pardon,  expiation. 

Perish  when  thy  victims  bleed. 


83 


O’CONNOH’S  CHILD; 

OR, 

“IHE  FLOWER  OF  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDmO.” 


I. 

On ! once  the  harp  of  Innisfail 
Was  strung  full  high  to  notes  of  gladness ; 
But  yet  it  often  told  a tale 
Of  more  prevailing  sadness. 

Sad  was  the  note,  and  wild  its  fall, 

As  winds  that  moan  at  night  forlorn 
Along  the  isles  of  Fion-Gall, 

When,  for  O’Connor’s  child  to  mourn, 

The  harper  told,  how  lone,  how  far 
From  any  mansion’s  twinkling  star, 

From  any  path  of  social  men. 

Or  voice,  but  from  the  fox’s  den. 

The  lady  in  the  desert  dwelt ; 

And  yet  no  wrongs,  nor  fears  she  felt : 
Say,  why  should  dwell  in  place  so  wild, 
O’Connor’s  pale  and  lovely  child? 


II. 

Sweet  lady ! she  no  more  inspires 
Green  Erin’s  hearts  with  beauty’s  power. 


84 


o’cONNOli’s  CHILD. 


As,  in  the  palace  of  her  sires, 

She  bloom’d  a peerless  flower. 

Gone  from  her  hand  and  bosom,  gone. 

The  royal  broche,  the  je' well’d  ring. 

That  o’er  her  dazzling  whiteness  shone. 
Like  dews  on  lilies  of  the  spring. 

Yet  why,  though  fall’n  her  brother’s  kerne, 
Beneath  De  Bourgo’s  battle  stern, 

While  yet  in  Leinster  unexplored, 

Her  friends  survive  the  English  sword ; 
Why  lingers  she  from  Erin’s  host. 

So  far  on  Galway’s  shipwreck’d  coast ; 
Why  wanders  she  a huntress  wild — 
O’Connor’s  pale  and  lovely  child  ? 

III. 

And  fix’d  on  empty  space,  why  burn 
Her  eyes  with  momentary  wildness ; 

And  wherefore  do  they  then  return 
To  more  than  woman’s  mildness  ? 
Dishevell’d  are  her  raven  locks ; 

On  Connocht  Moran’s  name  she  calls ; 

And  oft  amidst  the  lonely  rocks 
She  sings  sweet  madrigals. 

Placed  ’midst  the  foxglove  and  the  moss, 
Behold  a parted  warrior’s  cross ! 

That  is  the  spot  where,  evermore, 

The  lady,  at  her  shieling  door. 

Enjoys  that,  in  communion  sweet. 

The  living  and  the  dead  can  meet, 


o’connor's  child. 


85 


For,  lo ! to  love-lorn  fantasy, 
The  hero  of  her  heart  is  nigh. 


IV. 

Bright  as  the  bow  that  spans  the  storm, 

In  Erin’s  yellow  vesture  clad, 

A son  of  light — a lovely  form, 

He  comes  and  makes  her  glad ; 

Now  on  the  grass-green  turf  he  sits, 

His  tassell’d  horn  beside  him  laid ; 

Now  o’er  the  hills  in  chase  he  flits. 

The  hunter  and  the  deer  a shade ! 

Sweet  mourner ! these  are  shadows  vain 
That  cross  the  twilight  of  her  brain ; 

Yet  she  will  tell  you,  she  is  blest. 

Of  Connocht  Moran’s  tomb  possess’d. 

More  richly  than  in  Aghrim’s  bower. 

When  bards  high  praised  her  beauty’s  power. 
And  kneeling  pages  offer’d  up 
The  morat  in  a golden  cup. 


V. 

‘‘A  hero’s  bride  ! this  desert  bower. 

It  ill  befits  thy  gentle  breeding : 

And  wherefore  dost  thou  love  this  flower 
To  call — ‘ My  love  lies  bleeding  ? ’ ” 

“This  purple  flower  my  tears  have  nursed ; 
A hero’s  blood  supplied  its  bloom : 

I love  it,  for  it  was  the  first 

That  grew  on  Connocht  Moran’s  tomb. 


86 


o’connor’s  child. 


Ob ! hearken,  stranger,  to  mj  voice  I 
This  desert  mansion  is  my  choice ! 

And  blest,  though  fatal,  be  the  star 
That  led  me  to  its  wilds  afar : 

For  here  these  pathless  mountains  free 
Gave  shelter  to  my  love  and  me ; 

And  every  rock  and  every  stone 
Bore  witness  that  he  was  my  own. 


VI. 

O’Connor’s  child,  I was  the  bud 
Of  Erin’s  royal  tree  of  glory ; 

But  woe  to  them  that  wrapt  in  blood 
The  tissue  of  my  story ! 

Still  as  I clasp  my  burning  brain, 

A death-scene  rushes  on  my  sight ; 

It  rises  o’er  and  o’er  again. 

The  bloody  feud — the  fatal  night, 

When  chafing  Connocht  Moran’s  scorn, 
They  call’d  my  hero  basely  born ; 

And  bade  him  choose  a meaner  bride 
Than  from  O’Connor’s  house  of  pride. 
Their  tribe,  they  said,  their  high  degree, 
Was  sung  in  Tara’s  psaltery ; 

Witness  their  Eath’s  victorious  brand, 
And  Cathal  of  the  bloody  hand ; 

Glory  (they  said)  and  power  and  honour 
Were  in  the  mansion  of  O’Connor: 

But  he,  my  loved  one,  bore  in  field 
A humbler  crest,  a meaner  shield. 


o’connor’s  child. 


87 


VII. 

Ah,  brothers ! what  did  it  avail, 

That  fiercely  and  triumphantly 
Ye  fought  the  English  of  the  Pale, 

And  stemmed  De  Bourgo’s  chivalry ! 

And  what  was  it  to  love  and  me, 

That  barons  by  your  standard  rode ; 

Or  beal-fires  for  your  jubilee 
Upon  a hundred  mountains  glow’d  ? 

What  though  the  lords  of  tower  and  dome 
From  Shannon  to  the  North-sea  foam, — 
Thought  ye  your  iron  hands  of  pride 
Could  break  the  knot  that  love  had  tied  ? 
No: — let  the  eagle  change  his  plume, 

The  leaf  its  hue,  the  flower  its  bloom ; 
But  ties  around  this  heart  were  spun, 
That  could  not,  would  not,  be  undone ! 

VIII. 

At  bleating  of  the  wild  watch-fold 
Thus  sang  my  love — ‘ Oh,  come  with  me : 
Our  bark  is  on  the  lake,  behold 
Our  steeds  are  fasten’d  to  the  tree. 

Come  far  from  Castle- Connor’s  clans : — 
Come  with  thy  belted  forestere. 

And  I,  beside  the  lake  of  swans. 

Shall  hunt  for  thee  the  fallow-deer; 

And  build  thy  hut,  and  bring  thee  home 
The  wild-fowl  and  the  honey-comb ; 


88 


O’CONNOR'S  CHILD. 


And  berries  from  the  wood  provide. 

And  play  my  clarshech  by  thy  side. 

Then  come,  my  love ! ’ — How  could  I stay  ? 
Our  nimble  stag-hounds  track’d  the  way, 
And  I pursued,  by  moonless  skies, 

The  light  of  Connocht  Moran’s  eyes. 


IX. 

And  fast  and  far,  before  the  star 
Of  day-spring,  rush’d  we  through  the  glade, 
And  saw  at  dawn  the  lofty  bawn 
Of  Castle-Connor  fade. 

Sweet  was  to  us  the  hermitage 
Of  this  unplough’d,  untrodden  shore ; 

Like  birds  all  joyous  from  the  cage. 

For  man’s  neglect  we  loved  it  more. 

And  well  he  knew,  my  huntsman  dear, 

To  search  the  game  with  hawk  and  spear; 
While  I,  his  evening  food  to  dress, 

Would  sing  to  him  in  happiness. 

But,  oh,  that  midnight  of  despair ! 

When  I was  doom’d  to  rend  my  hair : 

The  night,  to  me,  of  shrieking  sorrow ! 

The  night,  to  him,  that  had  no  morrow  1 


X. 

When  all  was  hush’d  at  even  tide, 

I heard  the  baying  of  their  beagle : 

Be  hush’d ! my  Connocht  Moran  cried, 
’Tis  but  the  screaming  of  the  eagle. 


o’connor’s  child. 


89 


Alas ! ’twas  not  the  eyrie’s  sound  ; 

Their  bloody  bands  had  track’d  us  out ; 
Up-listening  starts  our  coucliant  hound — 
And,  hark  ! again,  that  nearer  shout 
Brings  faster  on  the  mui-derers. 

Spare — spare  him — Brazil — Desmond  fierce ! 
In  vain — no  voice  the  adder  charms  ; 

Their  weapons  cross’d  my  sheltering  arms ; 
Another’s  sword  has  laid  him  low — 

Another’s  and  another’s ; 

And  every  hand  that  dealt  the  blow — 

Ah  me  ! it  was  a brother’s  ! 

Yes,  when  his  meanings  died  away, 

Their  iron  hands  had  dug  the  clay, 

And  o’er  his  burial  turf  they  trod, 

And  I beheld— oh  God!  oh  God!— 

His  life-blood  oozing  from  the  sod. 


XI. 

Warm  in  his  death- wounds  sepulchred, 
Alas  ! my  warrior’s  spirit  brave 
Nor  mass  nor  ulla-lulla  heard. 
Lamenting,  soothe  his  grave. 

Dragg’d  to  their  hated  mansion  back. 
How  long  in  thraldom’s  grasp  I lay 
I know  not,  for  my  soul  was  black. 

And  knew  no  change  of  night  or  day. 
One  night  of  horror  round  me  grew ; 
Or  if  I saw,  or  felt,  or  knew, 

"Twas  but  when  those  grim  visages, 


90 


o’connor’s  child. 


The  angry  brothers  of  my  race, 

Glared  on  each  eye-ball’s  aching  throb, 
And  check’d  my  bosom’s  power  to  sob, 
Or  when  my  heart  with  pulses  drear 
Beat  like  a death-watch  to  my  ear. 

XII. 

But  Heaven,  at  last,  my  soul’s  eclipse 
Did  with  a vision  bright  inspire ; 

I woke  and  felt  upon  my  lips 
A prophetess’s  fire. 

Thrice  in  the  east  a war-drum  beat, 

I heard  the  Saxon’s  trumpet  sound, 
And  ranged,  as  to  the  judgment-seat, 
My  guilty,  trembling  brothers  round. 
Clad  in  the  helm  and  shield  they  came ; 
For  now  De  Bourgo’s  sword  and  flame 
Had  ravaged  Ulster’s  boundaries. 

And  lighted  up  the  midnight  skies. 

The  standard  of  O’Connor’s  sway 
Was  in  the  turret  where  I lay ; 

That  standard,  with  so  dire  a look. 

As  ghastly  shone  the  moon  and  pale, 

I gave, — that  every  bosom  shook 
Beneath  its  iron  mail. 

XIII. 

And  go ! (I  cried)  the  combat  seek, 

Ye  hearts  that  unappalled  bore 
The  anguish  of  a sister’s  shriek. 


o’oonnor’s  child. 


91 


Go ! — and  return  no  more ! 

For  sooner  guilt  the  oideal  brand 
Shall  grasp  unhurt,  than  ye  shall  hold 
The  banner  ^Yith  victorious  hand, 

Beneath  a sister’s  curse  unroll’d. 

0 stranger ! bj  my  country’s  loss ! 

And  by  my  love ! and  by  the  cross ! 

1 swear  I never  could  have  spoke 
I'he  curse  that  sever’d  nature’s  yoke. 

But  that  a spirit  o’er  me  stood. 

And  fired  me  with  the  wrathful  mood 
And  frenzy  to  my  heart  was  given, 

To  speak  the  malison  of  heaven. 

XIV. 

They  would  have  cross’d  themselves,  all  mute ; 
They  would  have  pray’d  to  burst  the  spell ; 
But  at  the  stamping  of  my  foot 
Each  hand  down  powerless  fell ! 

And  go  to  Athunree ! (I  cried) 

High  lift  the  banner  of  your  pride ! 

But  know  that  where  its  sheet  unrolls. 

The  weight  of  blood  is  on  your  souls ! 

Go  where  the  havoc  of  your  kerne 
Shall  float  as  high  as  mountain  fern ! 

Men  shall  no  more  your  mansion  know ; 

The  nettles  on  your  hearth  shall  grow ! 

Dead,  as  the  green  oblivious  flood 
That  mantles  by  your  walls,  shall  be 
The  glory  of  O’Connor’s  blood  I 


92 


o’connor's  child. 


Away ! away  to  Atliuiiree  ! 

Where,  downward  when  the  sun  shall  fall. 
The  raven’s  wing  shall  be  your  pall ! 

And  not  a vassal  shall  unlace 
The  vizor  from  your  dying  face ! 


XV. 

A bolt  that  overhung  our  dome 
Suspended  till  my  curse  was  given, 
Soon  as  it  pass’d  these  lips  of  foam, 
Peal’d  in  the  blood-red  heaven. 

Dire  was  the  look  that  o’er  their  backs 
The  angry  parting  brothers  threw  : 

But  now,  behold ! like  cataracts, 

Come  down  the  hills  in  view 
O’Connor’s  plumed  partisans ; 

Thrice  ten  Kilnagorvian  clans 
Were  marching  to  their  doom: 

A sudden  storm  their  plumage  toss’d, 
A flash  of  lightning  o’er  them  cross’d^ 
And  all  again  was  gloom ! 

XVI. 

Stranger ! I fled  the  home  of  grief, 

At  Connocht  Moran’s  tomb  to  fall ; 

I found  the  helmet  of  my  chief, 

His  bow  still  hanging  on  our  wall, 

And  took  it  down,  and  vow’d  to  rove 
This  desert  place  a huntress  bold ; 

Nor  would  I change  my  buried  love 


O CONNOR  S CHILD. 


93 


For  any  heart  of  living  mould. 

No ! for  I am  a hero’s  child ; 

I ’ll  hunt  my  quarry  in  the  wild ; 

And  still  my  home  this  mansion  make, 
Of  all  unheeded  and  unheeding, 

And  cherish,  for  my  warrior’s  sake — 

‘ The  flower  of  love  lies  bleeding.’  ” 


This  small  piece  was  suggested  bv  Campbell  seeing  a flower 
In  bis  ovm  garden  at  Sydenham,  called  “ Love  lies  bleeding; 
to  this  circumstance  we  owe  the  touching  narrative  of  O’Con- 
nor’s Child,  composed  in  December,  1809,  and  published  in 
the  spring  of  the  following  year.  It  has  been  considered  by 
many  good  judges  as  the  most  highly  finished  of  all  Camp 
bell’s  minor  pieces. 


94 


LOCHIEL^S  WARNING. 

Wizard — Lochiel. 

WIZARD. 

Lochii:l,  Lochiel ! beware  of  the  day 
When  the  lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array ! 
For  a field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scatter’d  in  fight. 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  kingdom  and 
crown ; 

Woe,  woe  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down  1 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain. 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark ! through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of 
war. 

What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  ? 
^Tis  thine,  oh  Glenullin ! whose  bride  shall  await, 
Like  a love-lighted  watch-fire,  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A steed  comes  at  morning : no  rider  is  there ; 

But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albin ! to  death  and  captivity  led ! 

Oh  weep,  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the  dead : 
For  a merciless  sword  on  Culloden  shall  wave, 
Culloden ! that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 


lochiel’s  warning. 


95 


LOCHIEL 

Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling  seer ! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear. 

Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 

WIZARD. 

Ha ! laugh’st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn  ( 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be 
Say,  rush’d  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth,  [torn ! 
From  his  home,  in  the  dark  rolling  clouds  of  the 
north  ? 

Lo ! the  death-shot  of  foemen  outspeeding,  he  rode 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad ; 

But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  high ! 
Ah ! home  let  him  speed, — for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 
Why  flames  the  far  summit  ? Why  shoot  to  the 
blast 

Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast? 
'Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyrie,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of 
heaven. 

Oh,  crested  Lochiel ! the  peerless  in  might. 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements’  height, 
Heaven’s  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  burn ; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling ! all  lonely  return ! 

For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it 
stood,  [brood. 

And  a wild  mother  scream  o’er  her  famishing 


96 


lochiel’s  warning. 


LOCHIEL. 

False  Wizard,  avaunt ! I have  marshall’d  my  clan, 
Their  swords  are  a thousand,  their  bosoms  are  one! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their 
breath. 

And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland’s  steed  to  the  shock ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a wave  on  the 
rock  I 

But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause, 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ; 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
Clanronald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud, 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array 

WIZARD. 

Lochiel,  Lochiel ! beware  of  the  day ; 

For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I may  seal, 
But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal ; 
*Tis  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore. 
And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 

I tell  thee,  Culloden’s  dread  echoes  shall  ring 
With  the  bloodhounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive 
king. 

Lo ! anointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath. 
Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path ! 

Now  in  darkness  and  billows,  he  sweeps  from  my 
sight : 

Rise,  rise ! ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight 


LOCHIEL'S  WARNING. 


97 


^Tis  finisli’d.  Their  thunders  are  hush’d  on  the 
Culloden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores,  [moors 
But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner?  Where? 
For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 

Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave,  banish’d,  forlorn, 
Like  a limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 
Ah  no ! for  a darker  departure  is  near ; 

The  war-drum  is  muffled,  and  black  is  the  bier; 
His  death-bell  is  tolling : oh  ! mercy,  dispel 
Yon  sight,  that  it  freezes  my  spirit  to  tell ! 

Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  limbs, 
And  his  blood-streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims. 
Accursed  be  the  fagots,  that  blaze  at  his  feet. 
Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown,  ere  it  ceases  to 
beat. 

With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale 

LOCHIEL. 

Down,  soothless  insulter ! I trust  not  the  tale : 

For  never  shall  Albin  a destiny  meet. 

So  black  with  dishonour,  so  foul  with  retreat. 
Tho’  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strew’d  in  their 
gore. 

Like  ocean-weeds  heap’d  on  the  surf-beaten  shore, 
Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 

While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains. 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low. 

With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the  foe ! 
And  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name,  [fame. 
Look  proudly  to  Heaven  from  the  death- bed  of 
7 1802. 


98 


YE  MAEINERS  OF  ENGLAND: 

A NAVAL  ODE. 


I. 

Ye  Mariners  of  England ! 

That  guard  our  native  seas ; 

Whose  flag  has  braved,  a thousand  years^ 
The  battle  and  the  breeze ! 

Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 

To  match  another  foe  j 

And  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 


II. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 
Shall  start  from  every  wave ! — 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 
And  Ocean  was  their  grave : 

Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell, 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow. 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep. 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow, 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 


TE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND. 


99 


III. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep ; 

Her  march  is  o’er  the  mountain-waves, 
Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak, 
She  quells  the  floods  below, — 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow : 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow 


IV. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 
Shall  yet  terrific  burn ; 

Till  danger’s  troubled  night  depart, 
And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name. 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow ; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 
And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 


1800. 


100 


YE  MARINERS  OP  ENGLAND. 


This  naval  ode  was  written  at  Altona,  in  the  winter  of  1800, 
when  the  poet  was  twenty-three  years  of  age;  it  appeared 
first  in  the  Morning  Chronicle  with  the  following  title,  “Altera- 
tion of  the  old  ballad  ‘Ye  Gentlemen  of  England,’  composed 
on  the  prospect  of  a Russian  war,”  and  signed,  “Amator 
Patriag.”  At  this  time  the  South  Eastern  and  Southern 
coasts  of  England  were  first  fortified  with  martello  towers 
as  a defence  against  foreign  invasion;  to  this  fact  reference 
is  elegantly  made  in  the  lines 

“ Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep.” 

The  subject  was  first  suggested  by  hearing  the  air  of  the 
old  ballad  before  mentioned  played  at  the  house  of  a friend 
in  Scotland;  an-^  when  the  rumour  of  war  with  Russia  be- 
came a general  topic  of  conversation  among  the  British  at 
Altona,  it  around  Campbell’s  patriotism,  and  hence  the 
result  in  verse. 


101 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC. 


I, 

/ t 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North,  t 
Sing  the  glorious  day’s  renown. 

When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 
All  the  might  of  Denmark’s  crown, 

And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shon« 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand. 

In  a bold  determined  hand. 

And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. — 

II. 

Like  leviathans  afloat. 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 

While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 
On  the  lofty  British  line : 

It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime  t 
As  they  drifted  on  their  path. 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death ; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath. 

For  a time. — 


102 


BATTLE  OP  THE  BALTIC. 


III. 

But  the  might  of  England  hush’d 
To  anticipate  the  scene ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  rush’d 
O’er  the  deadly  space  between. 

‘Hearts  of  oak!’  our  captain  cried;  when  each 

From  its  adamantine  lips 

Spread  a death-shade  round  the  ships, 

Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 
Of  the  sun. 


IV. 

Again!  again!  again! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 

Till  a feeble  cheer  the  Dane 
To  our  cheering  sent  us  back ; — 

Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom : — 
Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shatter’d  sail ; 

Or,  in  conflagration  pale, 

Light  the  gloom. — 


V. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then, 

As  he  hail’d  them  o’er  the  wave ; 
‘ Ye  are  brothers  ! ye  are  men ! 
And  we  conquer  but  to  save : — 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC. 


103 


So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring ; 
But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet, 

With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet, 

And  make  submission  meet 
To  our  King.' — 


VI. 

Then  Denmark  bless'd  our  chief, 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose ; 

And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 
From  her  people  wildly  rose, 

As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day. 
While  the  sun  look'd  smiling  bright 
O'er  a wide  and  woful  sight. 

Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 


VII. 

Now  joy.  Old  England,  raise ! 

For  the  tidings  of  thy  might. 

By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 

Whilst  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep, 

F ull  many  a fathom  deep. 

By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! 


104 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC. 


VIII. 

Brave  hearts ! to  Britain’s  pride 
Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died 

With  the  gallant  good  Riou 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  Heaven  o’er  their  grave ! 

While  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 

And  the  mermaid’s  song  condoles. 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  the  brave ! 

1805. 

1 Captain  Rion,  justly  entitled  the  gallant  and  the  good  by 
Lord  Nelson,  when  he  wrote  home  his  despatches. 


105 


HOHENLINDEN. 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 

All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow. 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 

When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array’d, 

Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh’d, 

To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven. 
Then  rush’d  the  steed  to  battle  driven, 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven, 
Far  flash’d  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden’s  hills  of  stained  snow. 

And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 


106 


HOHENLINDEN. 


*Tis  morn,  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank,  and  fiery  Hun, 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.  On,  ye  brave, 

Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave ! 

Wave,  Munich ! all  thy  banners  wave. 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry ! 

Few,  few,  shall  part  where  many  meet! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet. 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a soldier’s  sepulchre. 

1802. 


This  poem  was  composed  in  the  year  1802,  and  printed  ano- 
nymously with  “ Lochiel,”  being  dedicated  to  the  Rev.  A.  Ali- 
son. It  has  been  described  as  “ the  only  representation  of  a 
modern  battle  which  possesses  either  interest  or  sublimity.” 

Washington  Irving,  in  a “Biographical  Sketch  of  Camp- 
bell,” appended  to  “ The  Poetry  and  History  of  Wyoming, 
containing  Campbell’s  ‘ Gertrude,’  ” speaks  of  this  piece  and 
Lochiel,  as  “ Exquisite  gems,  sufficient  of  themselves  to  esta- 
blish his  title  to  the  sacred  name  of  poet;”  and  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  during  a visit  of  the  same  gifted  individual  to  Abbots- 
ford, made  the  following  observation — “And  there ’s  that  glo- 
rious little  poem  too  of  ‘ Holienlinden ; ’ after  he  had  written 
it  he  did  not  seem  to  think  much  of  it,  but  considered  some 
of  it  d — d drum  and  trumpet  lines.  I got  him  to  recite  it  to 
me,  and  I believe  that  the  delight  I felt  and  expressed  had  an 
effect  in  inducing  him  to  print  it. 

“ The  fact  is,”  added  he,  “ Campbell  is  in  a manner  a bug. 
bear  to  himself.  The  brightness  of  his  early  success  is  a 
detriment  to  all  his  further  efforts.  He  is  afraid  of  ihe  shadow 
ihat  kis  own  fame  casts  before  himy 


107 


GLENARA. 

O HEARD  ye  yon  pibroch  sound  sad  in  the  gale, 
Where  a band  cometh  slowly  with  weeping  and 
wail  ? 

^Tis  the  chief  of  Glenara  laments  for  his  dear  ; 
And  her  sire,  and  the  people,  are  call’d  to  her  bier. 

Glenara  came  first  with  the  mourners  and  shroud ; 
Her  kinsmen  they  follow’d,  but  mourn’d  not  aloud : 
Their  plaids  all  their  bosoms  were  folded  around ; 
They  march’d  all  in  silence, — they  look’d  on  the 
ground. 

In  silence  they  reach’d  over  mountain  and  moor, 
To  a heath,  where  the  oak-tree  grew  lonely  and 
hoar : 

Now  here  let  us  place  the  gray  stone  of  her  cairn : 
Why  speak  ye  no  word ! ” — said  Glenara  the  stern. 

‘‘  A.nd  tell  me,  I charge  you  ! ye  clan  of  my  spouse, 
Why  fold  ye  your  mantles,  why  cloud  ye  your 
brows  ? ” 

So  spake  the  rude  chieftain  : — no  answer  is  made, 
But  each  mantle  unfolding,  a dagger  display’d. 


108 


GLENARA. 


I dreamt  of  my  lady,  I dreamt  of  her  shroud,” 

Cried  a voice  from  the  kinsmen,  all  wrathful  and 
loud: 

“And  empty  that  shroud  and  that  coffin  did  seem  : 

Glenara ! Glenara  ! now  read  me  my  dream ! ” 

0 ! pale  grew  the  cheek  of  that  chieftain,  I ween, 

When  the  shroud  was  unclosed,  and  no  lady  was 
seen  ; 

When  a voice  from  the  kinsmen  spoke  louder  in 
scorn, 

”rwas  the  youth  who  had  loved  the  fair  Ellen  of 
Lorn  : 

“ I dreamt  of  my  lady,  I dreamt  of  her  grief, 

I dreamt  that  her  lord  was  a barbarous  cliief : 

On  a rock  of  the  ocean  fair  Ellen  did  seem ; 

Glenara ! Glenara ! now  read  me  my  dream  ! ” 

In  dust,  low  the  traitor  has  knelt  tp  the  ground, 

And  the  desert  reveal’d  where  his  lady  was 
found ; 

From  a rock  of  the  ocean  that  beauty  is  borne — 

Now  joy  to  the  house  of  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn  ! 


GLENARA. 


109 


Tms  poem  of  “ Glenara,”  written  in  the  year  1797,  at  the 
jige  of  nineteen,  was  suggested  by  the  following  tradition: — 
“Maclean,  of  Duart,  having  determined  to  get  rid  of  hia 
wife,  ‘ Ellen  of  Lorn,’  had  her  treacherously  conveyed  to  a 
rock  in  the  sea,  where  she  was  left  to  perish  by  the  rising 
tide.  He  then  announced  to  her  kinsmen  ‘his  sudden  be 
reavement,’  and  exhorted  them  to  join  in  his  grief.  In  the 
mean  time  the  lady  was  accidentally  rescued  from  the  certain 
death  that  awaited  her,  and  restored  to  her  father.  Her  hus- 
band, little  suspecting  what  had  happened,  was  suffered  to 
go  through  the  solemn  mockery  of  a funeral.  At  last,  when 
the  bier  rested  at  the  ‘ gray  stone  of  her  cairn,’  on  examina- 
tion of  the  coffin  by  her  kinsmen,  it  was  found  to  contain 
stones,  rubbish,  &c.,  whereupon  IMaclean  was  instantly  sacri- 
ficed by  the  Clan  Dougal  and  thrown  into  the  ready-made 
grave.” 

This  wild  and  romantic  story  has  been  rendered  immortal 
by  the  late  Joanna  Baillie,  in  “ The  Family  Legend.'*^ 


110 


EXILE  OF  ERIN. 

There  came  to  the  beach  a poor  Exile  of  Erin, 
The  dew  on  his  thin  robe  was  heavy  and 
chill; 

For  his  country  he  sigh’d,  when  at  twilight  re- 
pairing 

To  wander  alone  by  the  wind-beaten  hill : 

But  the  day-star  attracted  his  eye’s  sad  devotion, 
For  it  rose  o’er  his  own  native  isle  of  the  ocean 
Where  once,  in  the  fire  of  his  youthful  emotion. 
He  sang  the  bold  anthem  of  Erin  go  bragh. 

Sad  is  my  fate ! said  the  heart-broken  stranger ; 

The  wild  deer  and  wolf  to  a covert  can  fiee, 
But  I have  no  refuge  from  famine  and  danger, 

A home  and  a country  remain  not  to  me. 
Never  again,  in  the  green  sunny  bowers, 

Where  my  forefathers  lived,  shall  I spend  the 
sweet  hours, 

v)r  cover  my  harp  with  the  wild  woven  flowers. 
And  strike  to  the  numbers  of  Erin  go  bragh  1 

Erin,  my  country ! though  sad  and  forsaken, 

In  dreams  I revisit  thy  sea-beaten  shore ; 


EXILE  OF  ERIN. 


Ill 


But,  alas  ! in  a far  foreign  land  I awaken, 

And  sigh  for  the  friends  who  can  meet  me  no 
more ! 

Oh  cruel  fate ! wilt  thou  never  replace  me 
In  a mansion  of  peace — where  no  perils  can  chase 
me  ? 

Never  again  shall  my  brothers  embrace  me  ? 
They  died  to  defend  me  or  live  to  deplore  ! 

Where  is  my  cabin-door,  fast  by  the  wild  wood  ? 

Sisters  and  sire ! did  ye  weep  for  its  fall  ? 
Where  is  the  mother  that  look’d  on  my  childhood ; 

And  where  is  the  bosom  friend  dearer  than  all  ? 
Oh ! my  sad  heart!  long  abandoned  by  pleasure. 
Why  did  it  dote  on  a fast-fading  treasure  ? 

Tears,  like  the  rain-drop,  may  fall  without  mea- 
sure. 

But  rapture  and  beauty  they  cannot  recall. 

Yet  all  its  sad  recollections  suppressing. 

One  dying  wish  my  lone  bosom  can  draw  ; 

Erin  I an  exile  bequeaths  thee  his  blessing  1 
Land  of  my  forefathers  I Erin  go  bragh ! 
Buried  and  cold,  when  my  heart  stills  her  motion, 
Green  be  thy  fields, — sweetest  isle  of  the  ocean  1 
And  thy  harp-striking  bards  sing  aloud  with  devo- 
tion,— 

Erin  mavournin — Erin  go  bragh  I ^ 

1800. 


1 Ireland  my  darling,  Ireland  for  ever. 


112 


EXILE  OF  ERIN. 


“ While  tarrjnng  at  Hamburg,  I made  acquaintance  with 
some  of  the  refugee  Irishmen  who  had  been  concerned  in  the 
rebellion  of  1798.  Among  these  was  Anthony  Mac  Cann,  an 
honest,  excellent  man,  who  is  still,  I believe,  alive,  at  least  I 
left  him  in  prosperous  circumstances  at  Alton  a a few  years 
ago.  [Mac  Cann  is  since  dead;  Campbell  and  he  met  last  in 
the  autumn  of  1825.]  When  I first  knew  him  he  was  in  a 
situation  much  the  reverse ; but  Anthony  commanded  respect, 
whether  he  was  rich  or  poor.  It  was  in  consequence  of  meet- 
ing him  one  evening  on  the  banks  of  the  Elbe,  lonely  and 
pensive  at  the  thoughts  of  his  situation,  that  I wrote  the 
* Exile  of  Erin.*  . • • 


113 


LORD  ULLIN’S  DAUGHTER. 

A CHIEFTAIN,  to  the  Highlands  bound, 
Cries,  “ Boatman,  do  not  tarry ! 

And  I ’ll  give  thee  a silver  pound, 

To  row  us  o’er  the  ferry.” — 

‘‘  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ? ” 

“ 0,  I ’m  the  chief  of  Ulva’s  isle, 

And  this  Lord  UUin’s  daughter. — 

And  fast  before  her  father’s  men 
Three  days  we’ve  fled  together, 

For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen. 

My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride  ; 
Should  they  our  steps  discover. 

Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover  ? ” — 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 

I ’ll  go,  my  chief — I ’m  ready  : — 

8 


114  LORD  ULLIN’s  daughter. 

It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright ; 

But  for  your  winsome  lady  : 

And  by  my  word ! the  bonny  bird 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry : 

So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I ’ll  row  you  o’er  the  ferry.” — 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water- wraith  was  shrieking; 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 

And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 

Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

O haste  thee,  haste  ! ” the  lady  cries, 
Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 

I ’ll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies. 

But  not  an  angry  father.” — 

The  boat  has  left  a stormy  land, 

A stormy  sea  before  her, — 

When,  oh ! too  strong  for  human  hand. 
The  tempest  gathered  o’er  her. — 

And  still  they  row’d  amidst  the  roar 
Of  waters  fast  prevailing : 


LORD  ULLIN’s  daughter. 


115 


Lord  Uullin  reach’d  that  fatal  shore, 
His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. — 


For  sore  dismay’d,  through  storm  and  shade, 
His  child  he  did  discover : — 

One  lovely  hand  she  stretch’d  for  aid. 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

Come  back ! come  back  ! ” he  cried  in  grief, 
‘‘  Across  this  stormy  water : 

And  I’ll  forgive  your  Highland  chief. 

My  daughter ! — oh  my  daughter ! ” — 

’Twas  vain : — the  loud  waves  lash’d  the  shore, 
Return  or  aid  preventing : — 

The  waters  wild  went  o’er  his  child. 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 


1804. 


116 


ODE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

Soul  of  the  Poet ! wheresoe’er, 

Reclaim’d  from  earth,  thy  genius  plume 
Her  wings  of  immortality  : 

Suspend  thy  harp  in  happier  sphere. 

And  with  thine  influence  illume 
The  gladness  of  our  jubilee. 

And  fly  like  flends  from  secret  spell. 
Discord  and  Strife,  at  Burns’s  name, 
Exorcised  by  his  memory ; 

For  he  was  chief  of  bards  that  swell 
The  heart  with  songs  of  social  flame, 

And  high  delicious  revelry. 

And  Love’s  own  strain  to  him  was  given. 
To  warble  all  its  ecstasies 
With  Pythian  words  unsought,  un will’d, — 
Love,  the  surviving  gift  of  Heaven, 

The  choicest  sweet  of  Paradise, 

In  life’s  else  bitter  cup  distill’d. 

Who  that  has  melted  o’er  his  lay 
To  Mary’s  soul,  in  Heaven  above, 


ODE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BURNS.  117 


But  pictured  sees,  in  fancy  strong, 

The  landscape  and  the  livelong  day 
That  smiled  upon  their  mutual  love  ? — 
Who  that  has  felt  forgets  the  song  ? 

Nor  skiird  one  flame  alone  to  fan : 

His  country’s  high-soul’d  peasantry 
What  patriot-pride  he  taught ! — how  much 
To  weigh  the  inborn  worth  of  man  1 
And  rustic  life  and  poverty 
Grow  beautiful  beneath  his  touch. 

Him,  in  his  clay-built  cot,  the  Muse 
Entranced,  and  show’d  him  all  the  forms, 
Of  fairy-light  and  wizard  gloom, 

(That  only  gifted  Poet  views,) 

The  Genii  of  the  floods  and  storms, 

And  martial  shades  from  Glory’s  tomb. 

On  Bannock-field  what  thoughts  arouse 
The  swain  whom  Burns’s  song  inspires ! 
Beat  not  his  Caledonian  veins. 

As  o’er  the  heroic  turf  he  ploughs. 

With  all  the  spirit  of  his  sires. 

And  all  their  scorn  of  death  and  chains  ? 

And  see  the  Scottish  exile,  tann’d 
By  many  a far  and  foreign  clime. 

Bend  o’er  his  home-born  verse,  and  weep 
In  memory  of  his  native  land. 


118  ODE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OP  BURNS, 

With  love  that  scorns  the  lapse  of  time, 
And  ties  that  stretch  bejond  the  deep. 

Encamp’d  bj  Indian  rivers  wild, 

The  soldier  resting  on  his  arms, 

In  Burns’s  carol  sweet  recalls 
The  scenes  that  bless’d  him  when  a child, 
And  glows  and  gladdens  at  the  charms 
Of  Scotia’s  woods  and  waterfalls. 

O deem  not,  ’midst  this  worldly  strife, 

An  idle  art  the  Poet  brings : 

Let  high  Philosophy  control, 

And  sages  calm  the  stream  of  life, 

’Tis  he  refines  its  fountain-springs. 

The  nobler  passions  of  the  soul. 

It  is  the  muse  that  consecrates 
The  native  banner  of  the  brave. 
Unfurling,  at  the  trumpet’s  breath. 

Rose,  thistle,  harp ; ’tis  she  elates 
To  sweep  the  field  or  ride  the  wave, 

A sunburst  in  the  storm  of  death. 

And  thou,  young  hero,  when  thy  pall 
Is  cross’d  with  mournful  sword  and  plume. 
When  public  grief  begins  to  fade. 

And  only  tears  of  kindred  fall. 

Who  but  the  bard  shall  dress  thy  tomb. 
And  greet  with  fame  thy  gallant  shade  ? 


ODE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BURNS.  119 

Such  was  the  soldier — Burns,  forgive 
That  sorrows  of  mine  own  intrude 
In  strains  to  thy  great  memory  due. 

In  verse  like  thine,  oh ! could  he  live. 

The  friend  I mourn’d — the  brave — the  good — 
Edward  that  died  at  Waterloo!^ 

Farewell,  high  chief  of  Scottish  song ! 

That  couldst  alternately  impart 
Wisdom  and  rapture  in  thy  page. 

And  brand  each  vice  with  satire  strong, 

Whose  lines  are  mottoes  of  the  heart, 

Whose  truths  electrify  the  sage. 

Farewell ! and  ne’er  may  Envy  dare 
To  wring  one  baleful  poison  drop 
From  the  crush’d  laurels  of  thy  bust : 

But  while  the  lark  sings  sweet  in  air, 

Still  may  the  grateful  pilgrim  stop. 

To  bless  the  spot  that  holds  thy  dust. 

1816. 

1 Major  Edward  Hodge,  of  the  7th  Hussars,  who  fell  at  the 
head  of  hia  squadron  in  the  attack  of  the  Polish  Lancers. 


120 


LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  VISITING  A SCENE  IN  ARGYLESHIRR 

At  the  silence  of  twilight’s  contemplative  hour, 

I have  mused  in  a sorrowful  mood, 

On  the  wind-shaken  weeds  that  embosom  the 
bower 

Where  the  home  of  my  forefathers  stood. 

All  ruin’d  and  wild  is  their  roofless  abode. 

And  lonely  the  dark  raven’s  sheltering  tree  : 
And  travell’d  by  few  is  the  grass-cover’d  road. 
Where  the  hunter  of  deer  and  the  warrior  trode. 
To  his  hills  that  encircle  the  sea. 

Yet  wandering,  I found  on  my  ruinous  walk. 

By  the  dial-stone  aged  and  green. 

One  rose  of  the  wilderness  left  on  its  stalk. 

To  mark  where  a garden  had  been. 

Like  a brotherless  hermit,  the  last  of  its  race. 

All  wild  in  the  silence  of  nature,  it  drew. 

From  each  wandering  sunbeam,  a lonely  embrace, 
For  the  night-weed  and  thorn  overshadow’d  the 
place. 

Where  the  flower  of  my  forefathers  grew. 


LINES. 


121 


Sweet  bud  of  the  wilderness  ! emblem  of  all 
That  remains  in  this  desolate  heart ! 

The  fabric  of  bliss  to  its  centre  may  fall, 

But  patience  shall  never  depart ! 

Though  the  wilds  of  enchantment,  all  vernal  and 
bright, 

In  the  days  of  delusion  by  fancy  combined 
With  the  vanishing  phantoms  of  love  and  delight, 
Abandon  my  soul,  like  a dream  of  the  night. 

And  leave  but  a desert  behind. 

Be  hush’d,  my  dark  spirit ! for  wisdom  con- 
demns 

When  the  faint  and  the  feeble  deplore  ; 

Be  strong  as  the  rock  of  the  ocean  that  stems 
A thousand  wild  waves  on  the  shore ! 

Through  the  perils  of  chance,  and  the  scowl  of 
disdain, 

May  thy  front  be  unalter’d,  thy  courage  elate ! 
Yea ! even  the  name  I have  worshipp’d  in  vain 
Shall  awake  not  the  sigh  of  remembrance  again : 
To  bear  is  tc  conquer  our  fate. 


1800. 


122 


LINES. 


The  scene  visited  was  the  ruin  of  “ Kirnan ; ” situate  in 
the  vale  of  Glassary,  about  a mile  and  a half  from  the  ancient 
manse  of  Kilmichael.  His  grandfather,  Archibald  Campbell, 
had  been  the  last  occupant;  and  he,  when  somewhat  beyond 
the  flower  of  youth,  contracted  marriage  with  Margaret, 
daughter  of  Stuart  the  laird  of  Ascog,  in  the  island  of  Bute, 
widow  of  John  Mac  Arthur,  of  Milton,  whose  lands  abutted 
upon  the  Kiman  estate.  Upon  Mr.  A.  Camp'bell’s  decease, 
Eobert,  his  eldest  son,  appears  to  have  inherited  the  family 
mansion,  and  in  process  of  time  to  have  disposed  of  it  to  John 
Mac  Arthur,  his  half-brother,  in  order  to  liquidate  debts  in- 
curred by  profuse  Highland  hospitality,  a love  of  military 
display,  and  a numerous  train  of  retainers. 

Mr.  Mac  Arthur,  on  the  completion  of  his  purchase,  still 
continued  to  reside  at  Milton,  the  new  property  being  incor- 
porated with  the  old.  The  house  at  Kirnan  gradually  fell 
out  of  repair,  became  uninhabitable,  and  finally  lay  ruinous 
and  deserted;  a melancholy  subject  for  contemplation  to  a 
stranger,  but  doubly  so  to  one  who  saw  in  the  “roofless 
abode  ” an  evident  picture  of  the  decayed  prosperity  of  his 
own  family. 


123 


'XHE^  SOLDIER’S  DREAM. 

OoB  bugles  sang  truce — ^for  the  night-cloud  had 
lower’d,  [sky ; 

Ajid  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the 

And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  over- 
power’d, 

The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw, 
By  the  wolf-scaring  fagot  that  guarded  the 
slain ; 

At  the  dead  of  the  night  a sweet  vision  I saw. 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I dreamt  it  again. 

Methought  from  the  battle-field’s  dreadful  array, 
Far,  far  I had  roam’d  on  a desolate  track : 

’Twas  Autumn, — and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 
To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me 
back. 

I flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft 
In  life’s  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was 
young ; 


124 


THE  SOLDI EK’S  DREAM. 


I heard  mj  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft, 
And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn- 
reapers  sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I 
swore, 

From  my  home  and  my  weeping  fr^ds  never 
to  part ; 

My  little  ones  kiss’d  me  a thousand  times  o’er, 
And  my  wife  sobb’d  aloud  in  her  fulness  of 
heart. 

Stay,  stay  with  us, — rest,  thou  art  weary  and 
worn ; 

And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to 
stay 

But  sorrow  return’d  with  the  dawning  of  morn. 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 


125 


TO  THE  RAINBOW. 


Triumphal  arch,  that  fillst  the  sky 
When  storms  prepare  to  part, 

I ask  not  proud  Philosophy 
To  teach  me  what  thou  art — 

Still  seem,  as  to  my  childhood’s  sight, 
A midway  station  given 
For  happy  spirits  to  alight 
Betwixt  the  earth  and  heaven. 

Can  all  that  Optics  teach,  unfold 
Thy  form  to  please  me  so, 

As  when  I dreamt  of  gems  and  gold 
Hid  in  thy  radiant  bow  ? 

When  Science  from  Creation’s  face 
Enchantment’s  veil  withdraws, 
What  lovely  visions  yield  their  place 
To  cold  material  laws  ! 


126 


TO  THS  EAINBOW. 


And  yet,  fair  bow,  no  fabling  dreams, 
But  words  of  the  Most  High, 

Have  told  why  first  thy  robe  of  beams 
Was  woven  in  the  sky. 

When  o’er  the  green  undeluged  earth 
Heaven’s  covenant  thou  didst  shine, 

How  came  the  world’s  gray  fathers  forth 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign  ! 

And  when  its  yellow  lustre  smiled 
O’er  mountains  yet  untrod. 

Each  mother  held  aloft  her  child 
To  bless  the  bow  of  God. 

Methinks,  thy  jubilee  to  keep. 

The  first-made  anthem  rang 

On  earth  deliver’d  from  the  deep. 

And  the  first  poet  sang. 

Nor  ever  shall  the  Muse’s  eye 
Unraptured  greet  thy  beam  ; 

Theme  of  primeval  prophecy. 

Be  still  the  prophet’s  theme  ! 

The  earth  to  thee  her  incense  yields. 
The  lark  thy  welcome  sings. 

When  glittering  in  the  freshen’d  fields 
The  snowy  mushroom  springs. 


TO  THE  RAINBOW, 


127 


How  glorious  is  thy  girdle,  cast 
O’er  mountain,  tower,  and  town, 

Or  mirror’d  in  the  ocean  vast, 

A thousand  fathoms  down ! 

As  fresh  in  yon  horizon  dark, 

As  young  thy  beauties  seem. 

As  when  the  eagle  from  the  ark 
First  sported  in  thy  beam: 

For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  page. 

Heaven  still  rebuilds  thy  span. 

Nor  lets  the  type  grow  pale  with  age 
That  first  spoke  peace  to  man. 

1819. 


128 


THE  LAST  MAN. 

All  worldly  shapes  shall  melt  in  gloom, 
The  Sun  himself  must  die, 

Before  this  mortal  shall  assume 
Its  Immortality! 

I saw  a vision  in  my  sleep, 

That  gave  my  spirit  strength  to  sweep 
Adown  the  gulf  of  Time ! 

I saw  the  last  of  human  mould 
That  shall  Creation’s  death  behold, 

As  Adam  saw  her  prime ! 

The  Sun’s  eye  had  a sickly  glare. 

The  Earth  with  age  was  wan. 

The  skeletons  of  nations  were 
Around  that  lonely  man ! 

Some  had  expired  in  fight, — the  brands 
Still  rusted  in  their  bony  hands 
In  plague  and  famine  some  1 
Earth’s  cities  had  no  sound  nor  tread ; 
And  ships  were  drifting  with  the  dead 
To  shores  where  all  was  dumb  1 

Yet,  prophet-like,  that  lone  one  stood. 
With  dauntless  words  and  high. 

That  shook  the  sere  leaves  from  the  wood 
As  if  a storm  pass’d  by. 


THE  LAST  MAN. 


129 


Saying,  We  are  twins  in  death,  proud  Sun ! 
Thy  face  is  cold,  thy  race  is  run, 

’Tis  Mercy  bids  thee  go  ; 

For  thou  ten  thousand  thousand  years 
Hast  seen  the  tide  of  human  tears, 

That  shall  no  longer  flow. 

What  though  beneath  thee  man  put  forth 
His  pomp,  his  pride,  his  skill ; 

And  arts  that  made  fire,  flood,  and  eartL 
The  vassals  of  his  will? — 

Yet  mourn  I not  thy  parted  sway, 

Thou  dim  discrowned  king  of  day  ; 

For  all  those  trophied  arts 
And  triumphs  that  beneath  thee  sprang, 
Heard  not  a passion  or  a pang 
Entail’d  on  human  hearts. 

Go,  let  oblivion’s  curtain  fall 
Upon  the  stage  of  men. 

Nor  with  thy  rising  beams  recall 
Life’s  tragedy  again : 

Its  piteous  pageants  bring  not  back, 

Nor  waken  flesh,  upon  the  rack 
Of  pain  anew  to  writhe  ; 

Stretch’d  in  disease’s  shapes  abhorr’d, 

Or  mown  in  battle  by  the  sword. 

Like  grass  beneath  the  scythe. 

Ev’n  I am  weary  in  yon  skies 
To  watch  thy  fading  fire ; 

9 


130 


THE  LAST  MAN. 


Test  of  all  sumless  agonies, 

Behold  not  me  expire. 

My  lips  that  speak  thy  dirge  of  death — 
Their  rounded  gasp  and  gurgling  breath 
To  see  thou  shalt  not  boast. 

The  eclipse  of  Nature  spreads  my  pall, 
The  majesty  of  Darkness  shall 
Receive  my  parting  ghost ! 

This  spirit  shall  return  to  Him 
Who  gave  its  heavenly  spark  ; 

Yet  think  not,  Sun,  it  shall  be  dim 
When  thou  thyself  art  dark ! 

No  ! it  shall  live  again,  and  shine 
In  bliss  unknown  to  beams  of  thine, 

By  him  recall’d  to  breath. 

Who  captive  led  captivity. 

Who  robb’d  the  grave  of  Victory, — 

And  took  the  sting  from  Death! 

Go,  Sun,  while  Mercy  holds  me  up 
On  Nature’s  awful  waste 
To  drink  this  last  and  bitter  cup 
Of  grief  that  man  shall  taste — 

Go,  tell  the  night  that  hides  thy  face, 
Thou  saw’st  the  last  of  Adam’s  race, 

On  Earth’s  sepulchral  clod, 

The  darkening  universe  defy 
To  quench  his  Immortality, 

Or  shake  his  trust  in  God  1 


1823. 


13i 


A DKEAM 


Well  may  sleep  present  us  fictions^ 
Since  our  waking  moments  teem 
With  such  fanciful  convictions 
As  make  life  itself  a dream. — 
Half  our  daylight  faith ’s  a fable  ; 

Sleep  disports  with  shadows  too. 
Seeming  in  their  turn  as  stable 
As  the  world  we  wake  to  view. 
Ne’er  by  day  did  Reason’s  mint 
Give  my  thoughts  a clearer  print 
Of  assured  reality, 

Than  was  left  by  Phantasy 
Stamp’d  and  colour’d  on  my  sprite, 
In  a dream  of  yesternight. 

In  a bark,  methought,  lone  steering, 

I was  cast  on  Ocean’s  strife  ; 

This,  ’twas  whisper’d  in  my  hearing, 
Meant  the  sea  of  life. 

Sad  regrets  from  past  existence 
Came  like  gales  of  chilling  breath; 


132 


A PKEAM. 


Shadow’d  in  the  forward  distance 
Lay  the  land  of  Death. 

Now  seeming  more,  now  less  remote, 
On  that  dim-seen  shore,  methought, 

I beheld  two  hands  a space 
Slow  unshroud  a spectre’s  face ; 

And  my  flesh’s  hair  upstood, — 

’Twas  mine  own  similitude. — 


But  my  soul  revived  at  seeing 
Ocean,  like  an  emerald  spark. 
Kindle,  while  an  air-dropt  being 
Smiling  steer’d  my  bark 
Heaven-like — yet  he  look’d  as  human 
As  supernal  beauty  can. 

More  compassionate  than  woman, 
Lordly  more  than  man. 

And  as  some  sweet  clarion’s  breath 
Stirs  the  soldier’s  scorn  of  death — 

So  his  accents  bade  me  brook 
The  spectre’s  eyes  of  icy  look. 

Till  it  shut  them — turn’d  its  head. 
Like  a beaten  foe,  and  fled. 


‘‘  Types  not  this.”  I said,  “ fair  spirit ! 

That  my  death  hour  is  not  come  ? 
Say,  what  days  shall  I inherit  ? — 

Tell  my  soul  their  sum.” 

“ No,”  he  said,  “ yon  phantom’s  aspect, 


A DREAM. 


133 


Trust  me  would  appall  thee  worse, 
Held  in  clearly  measured  prospect : — 
Ask  not  for  a curse ! 

Make  not,  for  I overhear 

Thine  unspoken  thoughts  as  clear 

As  thy  mortal  ear  could  catch 

The  close-brought  tickings  of  a watch— 

Make  not  the  untold  request 

That ’s  now  revolving  in  thy  breast. 


'Tis  to  live  again,  remeasuring 

Youth’s  years,  like  a scene  rehearsed, 
In  thy  second  life-time  treasuring 
Knowledge  from  the  first. 

Hast  thou  felt,  poor  self-deceiver  I 
Life’s  career  so  void  of  pain. 

As  to  wish  its  fitful  fever 
New  begun  again  ? 

Could  experience,  ten  times  thine. 

Pain  from  Being  disentwine — 

Threads  by  Fate  together  spun  ? 

Could  thy  flight  Heaven’s  lightning  shun  ? 
No,  nor  could  thy  foresight’s  glance 
’Scape  the  myriad  shafts  of  Chance. 


Wouldst  thou  bear  again  Love’s  trouble — 
Friendship’s  death-dissever’d  ties ; 

Toil  to  grasp  or  miss  the  bubble 
Of  Ambition’s  prize  ? 


A DREAM. 


Say  thy  life’s  new  guided  action 

Flow’d  from  Virtue’s  fairest  springs— 
StiU  would  Envy  and  Detraction 
Double  not  their  stings  ? 

Worth  itself  is  but  a charter 

To  be  mankind’s  distinguish’d  martyr.” 

— I caught  the  moral,  and  cried,  Hail  I 
Spirit ! let  us  onward  sail 
Envying,  fearing,  hating  none — 

Guardian  Spirit,  steer  me  on  1 ” 

1824. 


135 


VALEDICTOKY  STANZAS 

TO 

J.  P.  KEMBLE,  Esq. 

OOMPOSED  FOR  A PUBLIC  MEETING,  HELD  JUNE,  1817 

Pride  of  the  British  stage, 

A long  and  last  adieu  ! 

Whose  image  brought  th’  heroic  age 
Revived  to  Fancy’s  view. 

Like  fields  refresh’d  with  dewy  light 
When  the  sun  smiles  his  last, 

Thy  parting  presence  makes  more  bright 
Our  memory  of  the  past ; 

And  memory  conjures  feelings  up 
That  wine  or  music  need  not  swell. 

As  high  we  lift  the  festal  cup 
To  Kemble — ^fare  thee  well ! 


His  was  the  spell  o’er  hearts 
Which  only  Acting  lends, — 

The  youngest  of  the  sister  Arts, 

Where  all  their  beauty  blends  : 

For  ill  can  Poetry  express 

Full  many  a tone  of  thought  sublime, 


136 


VALEDICTORY  STANZAS. 


And  Painting,  mute  and  motionless, 
Steals  but  a glance  of  time. 

But  by  the  mighty  actor  brought, 
Illusion’s  perfect  triumphs  come, — 
Verse  ceases  to  be  airy  thought, 

And  Sculpture  to  be  dumb. 


Time  may  again  revive, 

But  ne’er  eclipse  the  charm. 

When  Cato  spoke  in  him  alive. 

Or  Hotspur  kindled  warm. 

What  soul  was  not  resign’d  entire 
To  the  deep  sorrows  of  the  Moor, — 
What  English  heart  was  not  on  fire 
With  him  at  Agincourt  ? 

And  yet  a majesty  possess’d 

His  transport’s  most  impetuous  tone, 
And  to  each  passion  of  the  breast 
The  Graces  gave  their  zone. 


High  were  the  task — too  high. 

Ye  conscious  bosoms  here ! 

In  words  to  paint  your  memory  / 

Of  Kemble  and  of  Lear  ; 

But  who  forgets  that  white  discrowned  head. 
Those  bursts  of  Reason’s  half-extinguish’dglara 
Those  tears  upon  Cordelia’s  bosom  shed. 

In  doubt  more  touching  than  despair, 

K’twas  reality  he  felt? 


VALEDICTOIIY  STANZAS. 


137 


Had  Shakspeare’s  self  amidst  you  been, 
Friends,  he  had  seen  you  melt, 

And  triumph’d  to  have  seen  ^ 


And  there  was  many  an  hour 
Of  blended  kindred  fame. 

When  Siddons’s  auxiliar  power 
And  sister  magic  came. 

Together  at  the  Muse’s  side 

The  tragic  paragons  had  grown — 
They  were  the  children  of  her  pride, 

The  columns  of  her  throne, 

And  undivided  favour  ran 

From  heart  to  heart  in  their  applause, 
Save  for  the  gallantry  of  man 
In  lovelier  woman’s  cause. 


Fair  as  some  classic  dome, 

Robust  and  richly  graced. 

Your  Kemble’s  spirit  was  the  home 
Of  genius  and  of  taste  ; 

Taste,  like  the  silent  dial’s  power. 
That,  when  supernal  light  is  given, 
Can  measure  inspiration’s  hour. 

And  tell  its  height  in  heaven. 

At  once  ennobled  and  correct. 

His  mind  survey’d  the  tragic  page, 
And  what  the  actor  could  effect. 

The  scholar  could  presage. 


138 


VALEDICTORY  STANZAS. 


These  were  his  traits  of  worth  : 

And  must  we  lose  them  now  ! 

And  shall  the  scene  no  more  shew  forth 
His  sternly-pleasing  brow ! 

Alas,  the  moral  brings  a tear ! — 

’Tis  all  a transient  hour  below ; 

And  we  that  would  detain  thee  here, 
Ourselves  as  fleetly  go  ! 

Yet  shall  our  latest  age 
This  parting  scene  review : 

Pride  of  the  British  stage, 

A long  and  last  adieu ! 


GERTRUDE  OP  WYOMING 


ADVERTISEMENT, 


Most  of  the  popular  histories  of  England,  as  well  as  of  the 
American  war,  give  an  authentic  account  of  the  desolation 
of  Wyoming,  in  Pennsylvania,  which  took  place  in  1778,  by 
an  incursion  of  the  Indians.  The  Scenery  and  Incidents 
the  following  Poem  are  connected  with  that  event.  The> 
testimonies  of  historians  and  travellers  concur  in  describing 
the  infant  colony  as  one  of  the  happiest  spots  of  human  exist- 
ence, for  the  hospitable  and  innocent  manners  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, the  beauty  of  the  country,  and  the  luxuriant  fertility  of 
the  soil  and  climate.  In  an  evil  hour,  the  junction  of  Eu- 
ropean with  Indian  arms  converted  this  terrestrial  paradise 
into  a frightful  waste.  Mr.  Isaac  Weld  informs  us,  that  the 
ruins  of  many  of  the  villages,  perforated  with  balls,  and  bear- 
ing marks  of  conflagration,  were  still  preserved  by  the  reca!r$ 
inhabitants,  when  he  travelled  through  America  in  179^  > 


141 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

PART  1. 


I. 

On  Susquehanna’s  side,  fair  Wyoming  ! 

Although  the  wild-flower  on  thy  ruin’d  wall, 

And  roofless  homes,  a sad  remembrance  bring 
Of  what  thy  gentle  people  did  befall ; 

Yet  thou  wert  once  the  loveliest  land  of  all 
That  see  the  Atlantic  wave  their  mom  restore. 
Sweet  land ! may  I thy  lost  delights  recall, 

And  paint  thy  Gertrude  in  her  bowers  of  yore. 
Whose  beauty  was  the  love  of  Pennsylvania’s 
shore  ! 

II. 

Delightful  Wyoming ! beneath  thy  skies. 

The  happy  shepherd  swains  had  nought  to  do 
But  feed  their  flocks  on  green  declivities, 

Or  skim  perchance  thy  lake  with  light  canoe, 
From  morn  till  evening’s  sweeter  pastime  grew. 
With  timbrel,  when  beneath  the  forest  brown. 
Thy  lovely  maidens  would  the  dance  renew ; 

And  aye  those  sunny  mountains  half-way  down 
Would  echo  flagelet  from  some  romantic  town. 


142 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING.’ 


III. 

Then,  where  of  Indian  hills  the  daylight  takes 
His  leave,  how  might  you  the  flamingo  see 
Disporting  like  a meteor  on  the  lakes — 

And  playful  squirrel  on  his  nut-grown  tree  : 

And  every  sound  of  life  was  full  of  glee. 

From  merry  mock-bird’s  song,  or  hum  of  men  ; 
While  hearkening,  fearing  nought  their  revelry, 
The  wild  deer  arch’d  his  neck  from  glades,  and 
then. 

Unhunted,  sought  his  woods  and  wilderness  again. 

IV. 

And  scarce  had  Wyoming  of  war  or  crime 
Heard,  but  in  transatlantic  story  rung. 

For  here  the  exile  met  from  every  clime. 

And  spoke  in  friendship  every  distant  tongue : 
Men  from  the  blood  of  warring  Europe  sprung 
Were  but  divided  by  the  running  brook  ; 

And  happy  where  no  Rhenish  trumpet  sung. 

On  plains  no  sieging  mine’s  volcano  shook, 

The  blue-eyed  German  changed  his  sword  to  prun- 
ing-hook. 


V. 

Nor  far  some  Andalusian  saraband 
Would  sound  to  many  a native  roundelay — 
But  who  is  he  that  yet  a dearer  land 
Remembers,  over  hills  and  far  away? 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


143 


Green  Albin ! ^ what  though  he  no  more  survej 
Thy  ships  at  anchor  on  the  quiet  shore, 

Thy  pellochs^  rolling  from  the  mountain  bay, 
Thy  lone  sepulchral  cairn  upon  the  moor, 

And  distant  isles  that  hear  the  loud  Corbrechtan  ° 
roar ! 

VI. 

Alas  ! poor  Caledonia’s  mountaineer, 

That  want’s  stern  edict  e’er,  and  feudal  grief. 
Had  forced  him  from  a home  he  loved  so  dear ! 
Yet  found  he  here  a home  and  glad  relief. 

And  plied  the  beverage  from  his  own  fair  sheaf. 
That  fired  his  Highland  blood  with  mickle  glee : 
And  England  sent  her  men,  of  men  the  chief. 
Who  taught  those  sires  of  Empire  yet  to  be. 

To  plant  the  tree  of  life, — to  plant  fair  Freedom’s 
tree ! 

VII. 

Here  was  not  mingled  in  the  city’s  pomp 
Of  life’s  extremes  the  grandeur  and  the  gloom; 
Judgment  awoke  not  here  her  dismal  tromp. 

Nor  seal’d  in  blood  a fellow  creature’s  doom. 

Nor  mourn’d  the  captive  in  a living  tomb. 

One  venerable  man,  beloved  of  all. 

Sufficed,  where  innocence  was  yet  in  bloom. 

To  sway  the  strife,  that  seldom  might  befall : 

And  Albert  was  their  judge,  in  patriarchal  hall. 

1 Scotland. 

^ The  Gaelic  appellation  for  the  porpoise. 

8 The  great  whirlpool  of  the  western  Hebrides. 


144 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


VITI. 

How  reverend  was  the  look,  serenely  aged, 

He  bore,  this  gentle  Pennsylvanian  sire. 

Where  all  but  kindly  fervours  were  assuaged, 
Undimm’d  by  weakness’  shade,  or  turbid  ire ! 
And  though,  amidst  the  calm  of  thought  entire, 
Some  high  and  haughty  features  might  betray 
A soul  impetuous  once,  ’twas  earthly  fire 
That  fled  composure’s  intellectual  ray. 

As  iEtna’s  fires  grow  dim  before  the  rising  day. 


IX. 

I boast  no  song  in  magic  wonders  rife. 

But  yet,  oh  Nature ! is  there  nought  to  prize, 
Familiar  in  thy  bosom  scenes  of  life? 

And  dwells  in  daylight  truth’s  salubrious  skies 
No  form  with  which  the  soul  may  sympathize  ? — 
Young,  innocent,  on  whose  sweet  forehead  mild 
The  parted  ringlet  shone  in  simplest  guise. 

An  inmate  in  the  home  of  Albert  smiled. 

Or  bless’d  his  noonday  walk — she  was  his  only  child. 


X. 

The  rose  of  England  bloom’d  on  Gertrude’s  cheek — 
What  though  these  shades  had  seen  her  birth,  her 
sire 

A Briton’s  independence  taught  to  seek 

Far  western  worlds ; and  there  his  household  fire 

The  light  of  social  love  did  long  inspire, 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


145 


And  many  a halcyon  day  lie  lived  to  see 
Unbroken  but  by  one  misfortune  dire, 

When  fate  bad  reft  his  mutual  heart — but  she 
^Yas  gone — and  Gertrude  climb’d  a widow’d 
father’s  knee. 


XI. 

A loved  bequest, — and  I may  half  impart — 

To  them  that  feel  the  strong  paternal  tie. 

How  like  a new  existence  to  his  heart 
That  living  flower  uprose  beneath  his  eye. 

Dear  as  she  was  from  cherub  infancy. 

From  hours  when  she  would  round  his  garden 
play, 

To  time  when,  as  the  ripening  years  went  by. 

Her  lovely  mind  could  culture  well  repay. 

And  more  engaging  grew,  from  pleasing  day  to 
day. 


XII. 

1 may  not  paint  those  thousand  infant  charms : 
(Unconscious  fascination,  undesign’d !) 

The  orison  repeated  in  his  arms. 

For  God  to  bless  her  sire  and  all  mankind; 

The  book,  the  bosom  on  his  knee  reclined. 

Or  how  sweet  fairy-lore  he  heard  her  con, 

(The  playmate  ere  the  teacher  of  her  mind  :) 
All  uncompanion’d  else  her  heart  had  gone 
Till  now,  in  Gertrude’s  eyes,  their  ninth  blue 
summer  shone. 

10 


146 


GERTRUDE  OP  WYOMING. 


XIII. 

And  summer  was  the  tide,  and  sweet  the  hour, 
When  sire  and  daughter  saw,  with  fleet  descent, 
An  Indian  from  his  bark  approach  their  bower, 
Of  buskin’d  limb,  and  swarthy  lineament ; 

Tlie  red  wild  feathers  on  his  brow  were  blent. 
And  bracelets  bound  the  arm  that  help’d  to  light 
A boy,  who  seem’d,  as  he  beside  him  went. 

Of  Christian  vesture,  and  complexion  bright. 

Led  by  his  dusky  guide,  like  morning  brought  by 
night. 

XIV. 

Yet  pensive  seem’d  the  boy  for  one  so  young — 
The  dimple  from  his  polish’d  cheek  had  fled ; 
When,  leaning  on  his  forest-bow  unstrung, 

Th’  Oneyda  warrior  to  the  planter  said, 

And  laid  his  hand  upon  the  stripling’s  head. 
Peace  be  to  thee  ! my  words  this  belt  approve ; 
The  paths  of  peace  my  steps  have  hither  led : 
This  little  nursling,  take  him  to  thy  love. 

And  shield  the  bird  unfledged,  since  gone  the 
parent  dove. 


XV. 

Christian  ! I am  the  foeman  of  thy  foe ; 

Our  wampum  league  thy  brethren  did  embrace : 
Upon  the  Michigan,  three  moons  ago. 

We  launch’d  our  pirogues  for  the  bison  chase, 
And  with  the  Hurons  planted  for  a space, 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


147 


With  true  and  faithful  hands,  the  olive-stalk ; 

But  snakes  are  in  the  bosoms  of  their  race, 

And  though  they  held  with  us  a friendly  talk, 
The  hollow  peace-tree  fell  beneath  their  toma- 
hawk ! 


XVI. 

It  was  encamping  on  the  lake's  far  port, 

A cry  of  Areouski  ^ broke  our  sleep. 

Where  storm’d  an  ambush’d  foe  thy  nation’s  fort, 
And  rapid,  rapid  whoops  came  o’er  the  deep ; 

But  long  thy  country’s  war-sign  on  the  steep 
Appear’d  through  ghastly  intervals  of  light. 

And  deathfully  their  thunders  seem’d  to  sweep. 
Till  utter  darkness  swallow’d  up  the  sight. 

As  if  a shower  of  blood  had  quench’d  the  fiery 
fight ! 

XVII. 

It  slept — it  rose  again — on  high  their  tower 
Sprung  upwards  like  a torch  to  light  the  skies. 
Then  down  again  it  rain’d  an  ember  shower, 

And  louder  lamentations  heard  we  rise  : 

As  when  the  evil  Manitou  that  dries 
Th’  Ohio  woods,  consumes  them  in  his  ire. 

In  vain  the  desolated  panther  flies, 

And  howls  amidst  his  wilderness  of  fire  : 

Alas  ! too  late,  we  reach’d  and  smote  Hu- 

rons  dire! 


1 The  hidian  God  of  War. 


148 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


XVIII. 

But  as  the  fox  beneath  the  nobler  hound, 

So  died  their  warriors  by  our  battle-brand ; 

And  from  the  tree  we,  with  her  child,  unbound 
A lonely  mother  of  the  Christian  land : — 

Her  lord — the  captain  of  the  British  band — 
Amidst  the  slaughter  of  his  soldiers  lay. 

Scarce  knew  the  widow  our  delivering  hand ; 
Upon  her  child  she  sobb’d,  and  swoon’d  away, 

Or  shriek’d  unto  the  God  to  whom  the  Christians 
pray. 

XIX. 

Our  virgins  fed  her  with  their  kindly  bowls 
Of  fever-balm  and  sweet  sagamite  : 

But  she  was  journeying  to  the  land  of  souls. 

And  lifted  up  her  dying  head  to  pray 
That  we  should  bid  an  ancient  friend  convey 
Her  orphan  to  his  home  of  England’s  shore ; 

And  take,  she  said,  this  token  far  away. 

To  one  that  will  remember  us  of  yore. 

When  he  beholds  the  ring  that  Waldegrave’s  Julia 
wore. 

XX. 

And  I,  the  eagle  of  my  tribe,  have  rush’d 
With  this  lorn  dove.” — A sage’s  self-command 
Had  quell’d  the  tears  from  Albert’s  heart  that 
gush’d ; 

But  yet  his  cheek — his  agitated  hand — 

That  shower’d  upon  the  stranger  of  the  land 


GERTliUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


119 


No  common  boon,  in  grief  but  ill  beguiled 
A soul  that  was  not  wont  to  be  unmanned  ; 

“ And  stay,”  he  cried,  “ dear  pilgrim  of  the  wild. 
Preserver  of  my  old,  my  boon  companion’s  child  ! 

XXI. 

Child  of  a race  whose  name  my  bosom  warms, 

On  earth’s  remotest  bounds  how  welcome  here ; 
Whose  mother  oft,  a child,  has  fill’d  these  arms. 
Young  as  thyself,  and  innocently  dear. 

Whose  grandsire  was  my  early  life’s  compeer. 
Ah,  happiest  home  of  England’s  happy  clime  ! 
How  beautiful  ev’n  now  thy  scenes  appear. 

As  in  the  noon  and  sunshine  of  my  prime ! 

How  gone  like  yesterday  these  thrice  ten  years 
of  time  ! 

XXII. 

And  Julia  ! when  thou  wert  like  Gertrude  now, 
Can  I forget  thee,  favourite  child  of  yore  ? 

Or  thought  I,  in  thy  father’s  house,  when  thou 
Wert  lightest-hearted  on  his  festive  floor, 

And  first  of  all  his  hospitable  door 
To  meet  and  kiss  me  at  my  journey’s  end  ? 

But  where  was  I when  Waldegrave  was  no  more  r 
And  thou  didst  pale  thy  gentle  head  extend 
In  woes,  that  ev’n  the  tribe  of  deserts  was  thy 
friend!” 

XXIII. 

He  said — and  strain’d  unto  his  heart  the  boy ; — 
Far  differently,  the  mute  Oneyda  took 


150  GEKTKUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

His  calumet  of  peace  and  cup  of  joy ; 

As  monumental  bronze  unchanged  his  look ; 

A soul  that  pity  touch’d,  but  never  shook ; 

Train’d  from  his  tree-rock’d  cradle  to  his  bier 
The  fierce  extreme  of  good  and  ill  to  brook 
Impassive — fearing  but  the  shame  of  fear — 

A stoic  of  the  woods — a man  without  a tear, 

XXIV. 

Yet  deem  not  goodness  on  the  savage  stock 
Of  Outalissi’s  heart  disdain’d  to  grow ; 

As  lives  the  oak  unwither’d  on  the  rock 
By  storms  above,  and  barrenness  below  ; 

He  scorn’d  his  own,  w^ho  felt  another’s  woe : 

And  ere  the  wolf-skin  on  his  back  he  flung. 

Or  laced  his  mocasins,  in  act  to  go, 

A song  of  parting  to  the  boy  he  sung. 

Who  slept  on  Albert’s  couch,  nor  heard  his  friendly 
tongue. 

xxv. 

“ Sleep,  wearied  one  ! and  in  the  dreaming  land 
Shouldst  thou  to-morrow  with  thy  mother  meet. 
Oh  ! tell  her  spirit  that  the  white  man’s  hand 
Hath  pluck’d  the  thorns  of  sorrow  from  thy  feet ; 
While  I in  lonely  wilderness  shall  greet 
Thy  little  foot-prints — or  by  traces  know 
The  fountain,  where  at  noon  I thought  it  sweet 
To  feed  thee  with  the  quarry  of  my  bow. 

And  pour’d  the  lotus-horn,  or  slew  the  mountain 


roe. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WTOMING. 


151 


XXVI. 

Adieu  ! sweet  scion  of  the  rising  sun  ! 

But  should  affliction’s  storms  thy  blossom  mock, 
Then  come  again — my  own  adopted  one ! 

And  I will  graft  thee  on  a noble  stock  : 

The  crocodile,  the  condor  of  the  rock, 

Shall  be  the  pastime  of  thy  sylvan  wars  ; 

And  I will  teach  thee  in  the  battle’s  shock, 

To  pay  with  Huron  blood  thy  father’s  scars, 

And  gratulate  his  soul  rejoicing  in  the  stars ! ” 

XXVII. 

So  finish’d  he  the  rhyme  (howe’er  uncouth) 

That  true  to  nature’s  fervid  feelings  ran ; 

(And  song  is  but  the  eloquence  of  truth :) 

Then  forth  uprose  that  lone  way-faring  man ; 

But  dauntless  he,  nor  chart,  nor  journey’s  plan 
In  woods  required,  whose  trained  eye  was  keen. 
As  eagle  of  the  wilderness,  to  scan 
His  path  by  mountain,  swamp,  or  deep  ravine. 

Or  ken  far  friendly  huts  on  good  savannas  green, 

XXVIII. 

Old  Albert  saw  him  from  the  valley’s  side — 

His  pirogue  launch’d — his  pilgrimage  begun — 
Far,  like  the  red-bird’s  wing  he  seem’d  to 
glide  ; 

Then  dived,  and  vanish’d  in  the  woodlands 
dun. 


152 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


Oft,  to  that  spot  by  tender  memory  won, 

Would  Albert  climb  the  promontory’s  height. 

If  but  a dim  sail  glimmer’d  in  the  sun ; 

But  never  more  to  bless  his  longing  sight. 

Was  Outalissi  hail’d,  with  bark  and  plumage 
bright 


GERTEUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


PAET  n. 

1 

A VALLEY  from  the  river  shore  withdrawn 
Was  Albert’s  home,  two  quiet  woods  between, 
Whose  lofty  verdure  overlook’d  his  lawn  ; 

And  waters  to  their  resting-place  serene 
Came  freshening,  and  reflecting  all  the  scene : 

(A  mirror  in  the  depth  of  flowery  shelves ;) 

So  sweet  a spot  of  earth,  you  might  (I  ween) 
Have  guess’d  some  congregation  of  the  elves, 

To  sport  by  summer  moons,  had  shaped  it  for 
themselves. 

II. 

Yet  wanted  not  the  eye  far  scope  to  muse, 

Nor  vistas  open’d  by  the  wandering  stream  ; 
Both  where  at  evening  Alleghany  views, 
Through  ridges  burning  in  her  western  beam, 
Lake  after  lake  interminably  gleam  : 

And  past  those  settlers’  haunts  the  eye  might  roam 
Where  earth’s  unliving  silence  all  would  seem ; 
Save  where  on  rocks  the  beaver  built  his  dome, 
Or  buffalo  remote  low’d  far  from  human  home. 


154 


GERTJRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


III. 

But  silent  not  that  adverse  eastern  path, 

Which  saw  Aurora’s  hills  th’  horizon  crown : 
There  was  the  river  heard,  in  bed  of  wrath, 

(A  precipice  of  foam  from  mountains  brown,) 
Like  tumults  heard  from  some  far  distant  town ; 
But  softening  in  approach  he  left  his  gloom. 

And  murmur’d  pleasantly,  and  laid  him  down 
To  kiss  those  easy  curving  banks  of  bloom, 

That  lent  the  windward  air  an  exquisite  perfume, 

IV. 

It  seem’d  as  if  those  scenes  sweet  influence  had 
On  Gertrude’s  soul,  and  kindness  like  their  own 
Inspired  those  eyes  affectionate  and  glad. 

That  seem’d  to  love  whate’er  they  look’d  upon ; 
Whether  with  Hebe’s  mirth  her  features  shone, 
Or  if  a shade  more  pleasing  them  o’ercast, 

(As  if  for  heavenly  musing  meant  alone ;) 

Yet  so  becomingly  th’  expression  past. 

That  each  succeeding  look  was  lovelier  than  the 
last. 

V. 

Nor  guess  I,  was  that  Pennsylvanian  home, 

With  all  its  picturesque  and  balmy  grace, 

And  fields  that  were  a luxury  to  roam. 

Lost  on  the  soul  that  look’d  from  such  a face  1 
Enthusiast  of  the  woods  ! when  years  apace 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


155 


Had  bound  thy  lovely  waist  with  woman’s  zone, 
The  sunrise  path,  at  morn,  I see  thee  trace 
To  hills  with  high  magnolia  overgrown, 

And  joy  to  breathe  the  groves,  romantic  and  alone. 


VI. 

The  sunrise  drew  her  thoughts  to  Europe  forth, 
That  thus  apostrophized  its  viewless  scene : 

‘‘  Land  of  my  father’s  love,  my  mother’s  birth ! 
The  home  of  kindred  I have  never  seen  ! 

We  know  not  other — oceans  are  between  : 

Yet  say,  far  friendly  hearts ! from  whence  we  came. 
Of  us  does  oft  remembrance  intervene  ? 

My  mother  sure — my  sire  a thought  may  claim ; — 
But  Gertrude  is  to  you  an  unregarded  name. 

VII. 

And  yet,  loved  England  ! when  thy  name  I trace 
In  many  a pilgrim’s  tale  and  poet’s  song. 

How  can  I choose  but  wish  for  one  embrace 
Of  them,  the  dear  unknown,  to  whom  belong 
My  mother’s  looks, — perhaps  her  likeness  strong  ? 
Oh,  parent ! with  what  reverential  awe. 

From  features  of  thy  own  related  throng. 

An  image  of  thy  face  my  soul  could  draw ! 

A^nd  see  thee  once  again  whom  I too  shortly  saw  I ” 

VIII. 

Yet  deem  not  Gertrude  sigh’d  for  foreign  joy ; 

To  soothe  a father’s  couch  her  only  care, 


156 


GERTRUDE  OP  WYOMING. 


And  keep  his  reverend  head  from  all  annoy : 

For  this,  methinks,  her  homeward  steps  repair, 
Soon  as  the  morning  wreath  had  bound  her  hair ; 
While  yet  the  wild  deer  trod  in  spangling  dew, 
While  boatmen  carolfd  to  the  fresh-blown  air, 
And  woods  a horizontal  shadow  threw, 

And  early  fox  appear’d  in  momentary  view. 


IX. 

Apart  there  was  a deep  untrodden  grot, 

Where  oft  the  reading  hours  sweet  Gertrude  wore ; 
Tradition  had  not  named  its  lonely  spot ; 

But  here  (methinks)  might  India’s  sons  explore 
Their  fathers’  dust,  or  lift,  perchance  of  yore, 
Their  voice  to  the  great  Spirit : — rocks  sublime 
To  human  art  a sportive  semblance  bore. 

And  yellow  lichens  colour’d  all  the  clime. 

Like  moonlight  battlements,  and  towers  decay’d 
by  time. 


X. 

But  high  in  amphitheatre  above. 

Gay-tinted  woods  their  massy  foliage  threw  ; 
Breathed  but  an  air  of  heaven,  and  all  the  grove 
As  if  instinct  with  living  spirit  grew. 

Rolling  its  verdant  gulfs  of  every  hue ; 

And  now  suspended  was  the  pleasing  din, 

Now  from  a murmur  faint  it  swell’d  anew. 

Like  the  first  note  of  organ  heard  within 
Cathedral  aisles, — ere  yet  its  symphony  begin. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


157 


XI. 

It  was  in  this  lone  valley  she  would  charm 
The  lingering  noon,  where  flowers  a couch  had 
strown ; 

Her  cheek  reclining,  and  her  snowy  arm 
On  hillock  by  the  pine-tree  half  o’ergrown ; 

And  aye  that  volume  on  her  lap  is  thrown, 

Which  every  heart  of  human  mould  endears  ; 
With  Shakspeare’s  self  she  speaks  and  smiles 
alone. 

And  no  intruding  visitation  fears, 

To  shame  the  unconscious  laugh,  or  stop  her 
sweetest  tears. 


xn. 

And  nought  within  the  grove  was  heard  or  seen 
But  stock-doves  plaining  through  its  gloom  pro- 
found. 

Or  winglet  of  the  fairy  humming-bird. 

Like  atoms  of  the  rainbow  fluttering  round ; 
When,  lo ! there  enter’d  to  its  inmost  ground 
A youth,  the  stranger  of  a distant  land  ; 

He  was,  to  weet,  for  eastern  mountains  bound ; 
But  late  th’  equator  suns  his  cheek  had  tann’d. 
And  California’s  gales  his  roving  bosom  fann’d. 

XIII. 

A steed,  whose  rein  hung  loosely  o’er  his  arm, 

Ho  led  dismounted  ; ere  his  leisure  pace, 


158 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


Amid  the  brown  leaves,  could  her  ear  alarm, 
Close  he  had  come,  and  worshipped  for  a space 
Those  downcast  features : — she  her  lovely  face 
Uplift  on  one,  whose  lineaments  and  frame 
Wore  youth  and  manhood’s  intermingled  grace: 
Iberian  seem’d  his  boot — his  robe  the  same, 

And  well  the  Spanish  plume  his  lofty  looks  be- 
came. 

XIV. 

For  Albert’s  home  he  sought — her  finger  fair 
Has  pointed  where  the  father’s  mansion  stood. 
Returning  from  the  copse  he  soon  was  there ; 
And  soon  has  Gertrude  hied  from  dark  green 
wood ; 

Nor  joyless,  by  the  converse,  understood 
Between  the  man  of  age  and  pilgrim  young. 

That  gay  congeniality  of  mood. 

And  early  liking  from  acquaintance  sprung; 

Full  fluently  conversed  their  guest  in  England’s 
tongue. 

XV. 

And  well  could  he  his  pilgrimage  of  taste 
Unfold, — and  much  they  loved  his  fervid  strain, 
While  he  each  fair  variety  retraced 
Of  climes,  and  manners,  o’er  the  eastern  main. 
Now  happy  Switzer’s  hills — romantic  Spain, — 
Gay  lilied  fields  of  France, — or,  more  refined, 

The  soft  Ausonia’s  monumental  reign  ; 

Nor  less  each  rural  image  he  design’d 

Than  all  the  city’s  pomp  and  home  of  human  kind. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


159 


XVI. 

Anon  some  wilder  portraiture  he  draws ; 

Of  Nature’s  savage  glories  he  would  speak, — 
The  loneliness  of  earth  that  overawes, — 

Where,  resting  by  some  tomb  of  old  Cacique, 

The  lama-driver  on  Peruvia’s  peak 

Nor  living  voice  nor  motion  marks  around ; 

But  storks  that  to  the  boundless  forest  shriek. 

Or  wild-cane  arch  high  flung  o’er  gulf  profound. 
That  fluctuates  when  the  storms  of  El  Dorado 
sound. 

XVII. 

Pleased  with  his  guest,  the  good  man  still  would 

ply 

Each  earnest  question,  and  his  converse  court ; 
But  Gertrude,  as  she  eyed  him,  knew  not  why 
A strange  and  troubling  wonder  stopt  her  short. 

In  England  thou  hast  been, — and,  by  report. 

An  orphan’s  name  (quoth  Albert)  may’st  have 
known. 

Sad  tale ! — when  latest  fell  our  frontier  fort, — 
One  innocent — one  soldier’s  child — alone 
Was  spared,  and  brought  to  me,  who  loved  him  as 
my  own. 

XVIII. 

Young  Henry  Waldegrave ! three  delightful  years 
These  very  walls  his  infant  sports  did  see, 

But  most  I loved  him  when  his  parting  tears 
Alternately  bedew’d  my  child  and  me : 


160 


GEKTliUDE  OF  WVOxAIlNG. 


His  sorest  parting,  Gertrude,  was  from  thee ; 

Nor  half  its  grief  his  little  heart  could  hold ; 

By  kindred  he  was  sent  for  o’er  the  sea, 

They  tore  him  from  us  when  but  twelve  years  old, 
And  scarcely  for  his  loss  have  I been  yet  con- 
soled ! ” 

XIX. 

His  face  the  wanderer  hid — but  could  not  hide 
A tear,  a smile,  upon  his  cheek  that  dwell ; 

‘‘And  speak  ! mysterious  stranger  ! (Gertrude 
cried) 

It  is ! — it  is ! — I knew — I knew  him  well  I 
^Tis  Waldegrave’s  self,  of  Waldegrave  come  to 
tell ! ” 

A burst  of  joy  the  father’s  lips  declare  ! 

But  Gertrude  speechless  on  his  bosom  fell ; 

At  once  his  open  arms  embraced  the  pair, 

Was  never  group  more  blest  in  this  wide  world 
of  care. 

XX. 

“And  will  ye  pardon  then  (replied  the  youth) 
Your  Waldegrave’s  feigned  name,  and  false  attire 
I durst  not  in  the  neighbourhood,  in  truth. 

The  very  fortunes  of  your  house  inquire  ; 

Lest  one  that  knew  me  might  some  tidings  dire 
Impart,  and  I my  weakness  all  betray. 

For  had  I lost  my  Gertrude  and  my  sire, 

I meant  but  o’er  your  tombs  to  weep  a day. 
Unknown  I meant  to  weep,  unknown  to  i)as« 
away. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


IGl 


XXI. 

But  here  ye  live,  ye  bloom, — in  each  dear  face, 
The  changing  hand  of  time  I may  not  blame  ; 
For  there,  it  hath  but  shed  more  reverend  grace, 
And  here,  of  beauty  perfected  the  frame : 

And  well  I know  your  hearts  are  still  the  same — 
They  could  not  change — ye  look  the  very  way. 
As  when  an  orphan  first  to  you  I came. 

And  have  ye  heard  of  my  poor  guide  I pray  t 
Nay,  wherefore  weep  ye,  friends,  on  such  a joyous 
day?” 

XXII. 

‘‘  And  art  thou  here  ? or  is  it  but  a dream  ? 

And  wilt  thou,  Waldegrave,  wilt  thou,  leave  us 
more  ? ” — 

No,  never ! thou  that  yet  dost  lovelier  seem 
Than  aught  on  earth — than  ev’n  thyself  of 
yore — 

I will  not  part  thee  from  thy  father’s  shore ; 

But  we  shall  cherish  him  with  mutual  arms. 

And  hand  in  hand  again  the  path  explore 
Which  every  ray  of  young  remembrance  warms, 
While  thou  shalt  be  my  own,  with  all  thy  truth 
and  charms  ! ” 


XXIII. 

At  morn,  as  if  beneath  a galaxy 
Of  over-arching  groves  in  blossoms  white, 
Where  all  was  odorous  scent  and  harmony, 
11 


162 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


And  gladness  to  the  heart,  nerve,  ear,  and  sight 
There,  if,  O gentle  Love ! I read  aright 
The  utterance  that  seal’d  thy  sacred  bond, 

Twas  listening  to  these  accents  of  delight, 

She  hid  upon  his  breast  those  eyes,  beyond 
Expression’s  power  to  paint,  all  languishingly 
fond — 

XXIV. 

‘‘  Flower  of  my  life,  so  lovely  and  so  lone  ! 
Whom  I would  rather  in  this  desert  meet. 
Scorning,  and  scorn’d  by  fortune’s  power,  than 
own 

Her  pomp  and  splendours  lavish’d  at  my  feet! 
Turn  not  from  me  thy  breath  more  exquisite 
Than  odours  cast  on  heaven’s  own  shrine — to 
please — 

Give  me  thy  love,  than  luxury  more  sweet. 

And  more  than  all  the  wealth  that  loads  the  breeze, 
When  Coromandel’s  ships  return  from  Indian  seas.” 

XXV. 

Then  would  that  home  admit  them — happier  far 
Than  grandeur’s  most  magnificent  saloon, 

While,  here  and  there,  a solitary  star 
Flush’d  in  the  darkening  firmament  of  June ; 

And  silence  brought  the  soul-felt  hour,  full  soon, 
Ineffable,  which  I may  not  portray ; 

For  never  did  the  hymenean  moon 
A paradise  of  hearts  more  sacred  sway. 

In  all  that  slept  beneath  her  soft  voluptuous  ray. 


163 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

PART  m. 


I. 

O Love  ! in  such  a wilderness  as  this, 

Where  transport  and  security  entwine, 

Here  is  the  empire  of  thy  perfect  bliss. 

And  here  thou  art  a god  indeed  divine. 

Here  shall  no  forms  abridge,  no  hours  confine. 
The  views,  the  walks,  that  boundless  joy  inspire  1 
Roll  on,  ye  days  of  raptured  influence,  shine ! 
Nor,  blind  with  ecstasy’s  celestial  fire. 

Shall  love  behold  the  spark  of  earth-born  time 
expire. 

II. 

Three  little  moons,  how  short ! amidst  the  grove 
And  pastoral  savannas  they  consume ! 

While  she,  beside  her  buskin’d  youth  to  rove, 
Delights,  in  fancifully  wild  costume. 

Her  lovely  brow  to  shade  with  Indian  plume ; 
And  forth  in  hunter-seeming  vest  they  fare  ; 

But  not  to  chase  the  deer  in  forest  gloom, 

Y'is  but  the  breath  of  heaven — the  blessed  air— 
And  interchange  of  hearts  unknown,  unseen  to 
share. 


164 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


III. 

What  though  the  sportive  dog  oft  round  them  note, 
Or  fawn,  or  wild  bird  bursting  on  the  wing ; 

Yet  who,  in  Love’s  own  presence,  would  devote 
To  deadi  those  gentle  throats  that  wake  the  springy 
Or  writhing  from  the  brook  its  victim  bring? 

No  ! — nor  let  fear  one  little  warbler  rouse  ; 

But,  fed  by  Gertrude’s  hand,  still  let  them  sing, 
Acquaintance  of  her  path,  amidst  the  boughs. 
That  shade  ev’n  now  her  love,  and  witness’d  first 
her  vows. 

IV. 

Now  labyrinths,  which  but  themselves  can  pierce, 
Methinks,  conduct  them  to  some  pleasant  ground. 
Where  welcome  hills  shut  out  the  universe. 

And  pines  their  lawny  walk  encompass  round  ; 
There,  if  a pause  delicious  converse  found, 

’Twas  but  when  o’er  each  heart  th’  idea  stole, 
(Perchance  a while  in  joy’s  oblivion  drown’d) 
That  come  what  may,  while  life’s  glad  pulses 
roll. 

Indissolubly  thus  should  soul  be  knit  to  soul. 


V. 

And  in  the  visions  of  romantic  youth. 

What  years  of  endless  bliss  are  yet  to  flow ! 

But  mortal  pleasure,  what  art  thou  in  truth  ? 
The  torrent’s  smoothness,  ere  it  dash  below ! 
And  must  I change  my  song  ? and  must  I show, 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


165 


Sweet  Wyr)ining ! the  day  when  thou  wert  doom’d, 
Guiltless,  to  mourn  thy  loveliest  bowers  laid  low  I 
When  where  of  yesterday  a garden  bloom’d, 
Death  overspread  his  pall,  and  blackening  ashes 
gloom’d  1 

VI. 

Sad  was  the  year,  by  proud  oppression  dnven, 
When  Transatlantic  Liberty  arose. 

Not  in  the  sunshine  and  the  smile  of  heaven. 

But  wrapt  in  whirlwinds,  and  begirt  with  woes. 
Amidst  the  strife  of  fratricidal  foes  ; 

Her  birth-star  was  the  light  of  burning  plains 
Her  baptism  is  the  w^eight  of  blood  that  flows 
From  kindred  hearts — the  blood  of  British  veins — 
And  famine  tracks  her  steps,  and  pestilential  pains. 

VII. 

Yet,  ere  the  storm  of  death  had  raged  remote. 

Or  siege  unseen  in  heaven  reflects  its  beams. 
Who  now  each  dreadful  circumstance  shall  note. 
That  fills  pale  Gertrude’s  thoughts,  and  nightly 
dreams ! 

Dismal  to  her  the  forge  of  battle  gleams 
Portentous  light ! and  music’s  voice  is  dumb ; 
Save  where  the  fife  its  shrill  reveille  screams, 

Or  midnight  streets  reecho  to  the  drum, 

That  speaks  of  maddening  strife,  and  bloodstain’d 
fields  to  come. 

1 AUuding  to  the  miseries  that  attended  the  American  civil 
war. 


166 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


VIII. 

It  was  in  ti’ulh  a momentary  pang ; 

Yet  how  comprising  myriad  shapes  of  woe  ! 

First  when  in  Gertrude’s  ear  the  summons  rang, 
A husband  to  the  battle  doom’d  to  go ! 

“ Nay  meet  not  thou  (she  cried)  thy  kindred  foe ! 
But  peaceful  let  us  seek  fair  England’s  strand  ! ” 
‘‘Ah,  Gertrude,  thy  beloved  heart,  I know. 
Would  feel  like  mine  the  stigmatizing  brand  ! 
Could  I forsake  the  cause  of  Freedom’s  holy  band! 


IX. 

But  shame — but  flight — a recreant’s  name  to 
prove. 

To  hide  in  exile  ignominious  fears ; 

Say,  ev’n  if  this  I brook’d,  the  public  love 
Thy  father’s  bosom  to  his  home  endears : 

And  how  could  I his  few  remaining  years. 

My  Gertrude,  sever  from  so  dear  a child  ? ” 

So,  day  by  day,  her  boding  heart  he  cheers : 

At  last  that  heart  to  hope  is  half  beguiled, 

And,  pale  through  tears  suppress’d,  the  mournful 
beauty  smiled. 

X. 

Night  came, — and  in  their  lighted  bower,  full  lata 
The  joy  of  converse  had  endured — when,  hark  I 
Abrupt  and  loud,  a summons  shook  their  gate ; 
And  heedless  of  the  dog’s  obstrep’rous  bark, 


GERTRUDE  OP  WTOMING. 


167 


A form  had  rush’d  amidst  them  from  the  dark, 

And  spniad  his  arms, — and  fell  upon  the  floor : 

Of  aged  strength  his  limbs  retain’d  the  mark  ; 

But  desolate  he  look’d,  and  famish’d  poor. 

As  ever  shipwreck’d  wretch  lone  left  on  desert 
shore. 

XI. 

Uprisen,  each  wondering  brow  is  knit  and 
arch’d : 

A spirit  from  the  dead  they  deem  him  first : 

To  speak  he  tries;  but  quivering,  pale,  and 
parch’d, 

From  lips,  as  by  some  powerless  dream  accursed 

Emotions  unintelligible  burst ; 

And  long  his  filmed  eye  is  red  and  dim : 

At  length  the  pity-proffer’d  cup  his  thirst 

Had  half  assuaged,  and  nerved  his  shuddering 
limb, 

"W  hen  Albert’s  hand  he  grasp’d ; — ^but  Albert 
knew  not  him — 


XII. 

^‘And  hast  thou  then  forgot,”  (he  cried  forlorn, 
And  eyed  the  group  with  half  indignant  air,) 

“ 0 ! hast  thou,  Christian  chief,  forgot  the  morn 
When  I with  thee  the  cup  of  peace  did  share  ? 
Then  stately  was  this  head,  and  dark  this  hair. 
That  now  is  white  as  Appalachia’s  snow ; 

But,  if  the  weight  of  fifteen  years’  despair, 


168 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


And  age  hath  bow’d  me,  and  the  torturing  foe, 
Bring  me  my  boy — and  he  will  his  deliverer 
know!” 


XIII. 

It  was  not  long,  with  eyes  and  heart  of  flame. 

Ere  Henry  to  his  loved  Oneyda  flew  ; 

Bless  thee  my  guide  I ” — hut  backward,  as  ho 
came. 

The  chief  his  old  bewilder’d  head  withdrew. 

And  grasp’d  his  arm,  and  look’d  and  look’d  him 
through. 

’Twas  strange — nor  could  the  group  a smile  con- 
trol— 

The  long,  the  doubtful  scrutiny  to  view  : 

At  last  delight  o’er  all  his  features  stole, 

It  is — my  own,”  he  cried,  and  clasp’d  him  to  his 
soul. 


XIV. 

‘‘  Yes  ! thou  recall’st  my  pride  of  years,  for  then 
The  bowstring  of  my  spirit  was  not  slack. 

When,  spite  of  woods,  and  floods,  and  ambush’d 
men, 

I bore  thee  like  the  quiver  on  my  back. 

Fleet  as  the  whirlwind  hurries  on  the  rack ; 

Nor  foeman  then,  nor  cougar’s  crouch  I fear’d,^ 
For  I was  strong  as  mountain  cataract : 


1 Cougar,  the  American  tiger. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


169 


And  dost  thou  not  remember  how  we  cheer’d, 
Upon  the  last  hill-top,  when  white  men’s  huts 
appear’d  ? 


XV. 

Then  welcome  be  my  death-song,  and  my  death  1 
Since  I have  seen  thee,  and  again  embraced.” 
And  longer  had  he  spent  his  toil-worn  breath ; 
But  with  affectionate  and  eager  haste. 

Was  every  arm  outstretch’d  around  their  guest, 
To  welcome  and  to  bless  his  aged  head. 

Soon  was  the  hospitable  banquet  placed ; 

And  Gertrude’s  lovely  hands  a balsam  shed 
On  wounds  with  fever’d  joy  that  more  profusely 
bled. 

XVI. 

“ But  this  is  not  a time,” — he  started  up, 

And  smote  his  breast  with  woe-denouncing  hand — 
“ This  is  no  time  to  fill  the  joyous  cup. 

The  Mammoth  comes, — the  foe, — the  Monster 
Brandt, — 

With  all  his  howling  desolating  band  ; — 

These  eyes  have  seen  their  blade  and  burning  pine 
Awake  at  once,  and  silence  half  your  land. 

Eed  is  the  cup  they  drink  ; but  not  with  wine: 
Awake,  and  watch  to-night,  or  see  no  morning 
shine ! 

XVII. 

Scorning  to  wield  the  hatchet  for  his  bribe. 

Gainst  Brandt  himself  I went  to  battle  forth  : 


170 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


Accursed  Brandt ! he  left  of  all  my  tribe 
Nor  man,  nor  child,  nor  thing  of  living  birth : 
No!  not  the  dog  that  watch’d  my  household 
hearth. 

Escaped  that  night  of  blood,  upon  our  plains  I 
All  perish’d ! — I alone  am  left  on  earth  I 
To  whom  nor  relative  nor  blood  remains. 

No! — not  a kindred  drop  that  runs  in  human 
veins ! 

XVIII. 

But  go ! — and  rouse  your  warriors,  for,  if  right 
These  old  bewilder’d  eyes  could  guess,  by  signs 
Of  striped  and  starred  banners,  on  yon  height 
Of  eastern  cedars,  o’er  the  creek  of  pines — 

Some  fort  embattled  by  your  country  shines : 
Deep  roars  th’  innavigable  gulf  below 
Its  squared  rock,  and  palisaded  lines. 

Go  ! seek  the  light  its  warlike  beacons  show ; 
Whilst  I in  ambush  wait,  for  vengeance,  and  the 
foe!” 

XIX. 

S3arce  had  he  utter’d — when  Heaven’s  verge 
extreme 

Reverberates  the  bomb’s  decending  star, — 

And  sounds  that  mingled  laugh, — and  shout,— 
and  scream, — 

To  freeze  the  blood,  in  one  discordant  jar, 

Rung  to  the  pealing  thunderbolts  of  war. 

Whoop  after  whoop  with  rack  the  ear  assail’d ; 

As  if  unearthly  fiends  had  burst  their  bar  ; 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


171 


While  rapidly  the  marksman’s  shot  prevail’d : 
And  aye,  as  if  for  death,  some  lonely  trumpet 
wail’d. 


XX. 

Then  look’d  they  to  the  hills,  where  fire  o’erhung 
The  bandit  groups,  in  one  Vesuvian  glare; 

Or  swept,  far  seen,  the  tower,  whose  clock 
unrung 

Told  legible  that  midnight  of  despair. 

She  faints, — she  falters  not, — th’  heroic  fair, — 
As  he  the  sword  and  plume  in  haste  array’d. 

One  short  embrace — he  clasp’d  his  dearest  care — 
But  hark ! what  nearer  war-drum  shakes  the 
glade  ? 

Joy,  joy ! Columbia’s  friends  are  trampling  through 
the  shade ! 

XXI. 

Then  came  of  every  race  the  mingled  swarm. 

Far  rung  the  groves  and  gleam’d  the  midnight 
grass. 

With  flambeau,  javelin,  and  naked  arm  ; 

As  warriors  wheel’d  their  culverins  of  brass, 
Sprung  from  the  woods,  a bold  athletic  mass. 
Whom  virtue  fires,  and  liberty  combines : 

And  first  the  wild  Moravian  yagers  pass. 

His  plumed  host  the  dark  Iberian  joins — 

And  Scotia’s  sword  beneath  the  Highland  thistle 
shines. 


172 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


XXII. 

And  in  the  buskin’d  hunters  of  the  deer, 

To  Albert’s  home,  with  shout  and  cymbal 
tlirong : — 

Housed  by  their  warlike  pomp,  and  mirth,  and 
cheer, 

Old  Outalissi  woke  his  battle-song. 

And,  beating  with  his  war-club  cadence  strong. 
Tells  how  his  deep-stung  indignation  smarts. 

Of  them  that  wrapt  his  house  in  flames,  ere  long, 
To  whet  a dagger  on  their  stony  hearts. 

And  smile  avenged  ere  yet  his  eagle  spirit  parts. — 

XXIII. 

Calm,  opposite  the  Christian  father  rose, 

Pale  on  his  venerable  brow  its  rays 
Of  martyr  light  the  conflagration  throws  ; 

One  hand  upon  his  lovely  child  he  lays. 

And  one  the  uncover’d  crowd  to  silence  sways ; 
While,  though  the  battle  flash  is  faster  driven, — 
Unaw’d,  with  eye  unstartled  by  the  blaze. 

He  for  his  bleeding  country  prays  to  Heaven, — 
Prays  that  the  men  of  blood  themselves  may  be 
forgiven. 

XXIV. 

Short  time  is  now  for  gratulating  speech : 

And  yet,  beloved  Gertrude,  ere  began 

Thy  country’s  flight,  yon  distant  towers  to  reach. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


173 


l/ook’d  not  on  thee  the  rudest  partisan 
With  brow  relax’d  to  love  ? And  murmurs  ran, 
As  round  and  round  their  willing  ranks  they  drew, 
From  beauty’s  sight  to  shield  the  hostile  van. 
Grateful,  on  them  a placid  look  she  threw, 

Nor  wept,  but  as  she  bade  her  mother’s  grave 
adieu ! 

XXV. 

Past  was  the  flight,  and  welcome  seem’d  the  tower, 
That  like  a giant  standard-bearer  frown’d 
Defiance  on  the  roving  Indian  power. 

Beneath,  each  bold  and  promontory  mound 
With  embrasure  emboss’d,  and  armour  crown’d, 
And  arrowy  frize,  and  wedged  ravelin, 

Wove  like  a diadem  its  tracery  round 
The  lofty  summit  of  that  mountain  green  ; 

Here  stood  secure  the  group,  and  eyed  a distant 
scene. 

XXVI. 

A scene  of  death ! where  fires  beneath  the  sun. 
And  blended  arms,  and  white  pavilions  glow ; 
And  for  the  business  of  destruction  done. 

Its  requiem  the  war-horn  seem’d  to  blow : 

There,  sad  spectatress  of  her  country’s  woe ! 

The  lovely  Gertrude,  safe  from  present  harm, 
Had  laid  her  cheek,  and  clasp’d  her  hands  of 
snow 

On  Waldegrave’s  shoulder,  half  within  his  arm 
Enclosed,  that  felt  her  heart,  and  hush’d  its  wild 
alarm ! 


174 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


XXVII. 

But  short  that  contemplation — sad  and  short 
The  pause  to  bid  each  much-loved  scene  adieu  1 
Beneath  the  very  shadow  of  the  fort, 

Where  friendly  swords  were  drawn,  and  banners 
flew ; 

Ah  ! who  could  deem  that  foot  of  Indian  crew 
Was  near? — yet  there,  with  lust  of  murderous 
deeds, 

Gleam’d  like  a basilisk,  from  woods  in  view. 

The  ambush’d  foeman’s  eye — his  volley  speeds. 
And  Albert — Albert  falls ! the  dear  old  father 
bleeds ! 

XXVIII. 

And  tranced  in  giddy  horror  Gertrude  swoon’d ; 
Yet,  while  she  clasps  him  lifeless  to  her  zone, 
Say,  burst  they,  borrow’d  from  her  father’s  wound, 
These  drops  ? — Oh,  God ! the  life-blood  is  her  own ! 
And  faltering,  on  her W aldegrave’s  bosom  thrown — 
“Weep  not,  0 Love!” — she  cries,  “to  see  me 
bleed — 

Thee,  Gertrude’s  sad  survivor,  thee  alone 
Heaven’s  peace  commiserate ; for  scarce  I heed 
These  wounds ; — yet  thee  to  leave  is  death,  is 
death  indeed  I 

XXIX. 

a little  longer  on  the  brink 

fate  I while  I can  feel  thy  dear  caress; 

■'  '■ 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


175 


And  when  this  heart  hath  ceased  to  beat — oh  1 
think, 

And  let  it  mitigate  thy  woe’s  excess, 

That  thou  hast  been  to  me  all  tenderness. 

And  friend  to  more  than  human  friendship  just. 
Oh ! by  that  retrospect  of  happiness, 

And  by  the  hopes  of  an  immortal  trust, 

God  shall  assuage  thy  pangs — when  I am  laid  in 
dust! 

XXX. 

Go,  Henry,  go  not  back  when  I depart. 

The  scene  thy  bursting  tears  too  deep  will  move, 
Where  my  dear  father  took  thee  to  his  heart. 
And  Gertrude  thought  it  ecstasy  to  rove 
With  thee,  as  with  an  angel,  through  the  grove 
Of  peace,  imagining  her  lot  was  cast 
In  heaven  ; for  ours  was  not  like  earthly  love. 
And  must  this  parting  be  our  very  last  ? 

No ! I shall  love  thee  still,  when  death  itself  is 
past. — 

XXXI. 

Half  could  I bear,  methinks,  to  leave  this  earth, — 
And  thee,  more  loved  than  aught  beneath  the  sun, 
If  I had  lived  to  smile  but  on  the  birth 
Of  one  dear  pledge ; — but  shall  there  then  be  none. 
In  future  times — no  gentle  little  one. 

To  clasp  thy  neck,  and  look,  resembling  me  ? 

Yet  seems  it,  ev’n  while  life’s  last  pulses  run, 

A sweetness  in  the  cup  of  death  to  be. 

Lord  of  my  bosom’s  love  ! to  die  beholding  thee  I 


176 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


XXXII. 

Hush’d  were  his  Gertrude’s  lips!  but  still  their 
bland 

And  beautiful  expression  seem’d  to  melt 
With  love  that  could  not  die  1 and  still  his  hand 
She  presses  to  the  heart  no  more  that  felt. 

Ah,  heart ! where  once  each  fond  affection  dwelt, 
And  features  yet  that  spoke  a soul  more  fair. 
Mute,  gazing,  agonizing,  as  he  knelt, — 

Of  them  that  ^tood  encircling  his  despair, 

He  heard  some  friendly  words  ; — but  knew  not 
what  they  were. 

XXXIII. 

For  now,  to  mourn  their  judge  and  child,  arrives 
A faithful  band.  With  solemn  rites  between 
’Twas  sung,  how  they  were  lovely  in  their  lives, 
And  in  their  deaths  had  not  divided  been. 
Touch’d  by  the  music,  and  the  melting  scene. 
Was  scarce  one  tearless  eye  amidst  the  crowd : — 
Stern  warriors,  resting  on  their  swords,  were  seen 
To  veil  their  eyes,  as  pass’d  each  much-loved 
shroud — 

While  woman’s  softer  soul  in  woe  dissolved  aloud 

XXXIV. 

Then  mournfully  the  parting  bugle  bid 

Its  farewell,  o’er  the  grave  of  worth  and  truth ; 

Prone  to  the  dust,  afflicted  Waldegrave  hid 


GERTRUDE  OF  WTOMING. 


177 


His  face  on  earth  ; — him  watch’d,  in  gloomy 
ruth, 

His  woodland  guide  : but  words  had  none  to  soothe 
The  grief  that  kneAV  not  consolation’s  name  ; 
Casting  his  Indian  mantle  o’er  the  youth. 

He  watch’d,  beneath  its  folds,  each  burst  that 
came 

Convulsive,  ague-like,  across  his  shuddering  frame! 

XXXV. 

"And  I could  weep ; ” — th’  Oneyda  chief 
His  descant  wildly  thus  begun : 

"But  that  I may  not  stain  with  grief 
The  death-song  of  my  father’s  son, 

Or  bow  this  head  in  woe  1 

For  by  my  wrongs,  and  by  my  wrath ! 

To-morrow  Areouski’s  breath, 

(That  fires  yon  heaven  with  storms  of  death,) 
Shall  light  us  to  the  foe : 

And  we  shall  share,  my  Christian  boy ! 

The  foeman’s  blood,  the  avenger’s  joy  I 

XXXVI. 

But  thee,  my  flower,  whose  breath  was  given 
By  milder  genii  o’er  the  deep, 

The  spirits  of  the  white  man’s  heaven 
Forbid  not  thee  to  weep : — 

Nor  will  the  Christian  host. 

Nor  will  thy  father’s  spirit  grieve, 

To  see  thee,  on  the  battle’s  eve, 

12 


178 


GERTKUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


Lamenting,  take  a mournful  leave 
Of  her  who  loved  thee  most : 

She  was  the  rainbow  to  thy  sight ! 

Thy  sun — thy  heaven — of  lost  delight  1 

XXXVII. 

To-morrow  let  us  do  or  die  ! 

But  when  the  bolt  of  death  is  hurl’d, 

Ah  ! whither  then  with  thee  to  fly, 

Shall  Outalissi  roam  the  world  ? 

Seek  we  thy  once-loved  home  ? 

The  hand  is  gone  that  cropt  its  flowers ; 
Unheard  their  clock  repeats  its  hours ! 

Cold  is  the  hearth  within  their  bowers  I 
And  should  we  thither  roam. 

Its  echoes,  and  its  empty  tread, 

Would  sound  like  voices  from  the  dead! 

XXXVIII. 

Or  shall  we  cross  yon  mountains  blue. 

Whose  streams  my  kindred  nation  quaff’d, 
And  by  my  side,  in  battle  true, 

A thousand  warriors  drew  the  shaft  ? 

Ah  ! there,  in  desolation  cold. 

The  desert  serpent  dwells  alone. 

Where  grass  o’ergrows  each  mouldering  bone, 
And  stones  themselves  to  ruin  grown. 

Like  me,  are  death-like  old. 

Then  seek  we  not  their  camp, — for  there — 
The  silence  dwells  of  my  despair  I 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


179 


XXXIX. 

But  hark,  the  trump  ! — to-morrow  thou 
In  glory’s  fires  shall  dry  thy  tears ; 
Ev’n  from  the  land  of  shadows  now 
My  father’s  awful  ghost  appears, 
Amidst  the  clouds  that  round  us  roll ; 
He  bids  my  soul  for  battle  thirst — 

He  bids  me  dry  the  last — the  first — 
The  only  tears  that  ever  burst 
From  Outalissi’s  soul; 

Because  I may  not  stain  with  grief 
The  death-song  of  an  Indian  chief!” 


In  1809,  ‘'Gertrude’  appeared,  dedicated  to  Campbell'a 
steady  friend.  Lord  Holland.  The  cordial  reception  it  re- 
ceived formed  a bright  epoch  in  the  Poet’s  life.  On  the  same 
day  the  work  was  published  appeared  also  an  article  in  the 
Edinburgh  Review  opening  with  a brilliant  eulogium  on  the 
taste  and  talent  of  the  author.  “We  rejoice  once  more,” 
said  the  writer,  “ to  see  a polished  and  pathetic  poem  in  the 
old  style  of  English  pathos  and  poetry.  This  is  of  the  pitch 
of  the  ‘ Castle  of  Indolence,’  and  the  finer  parts  of  Spenser, 
with  more  feeling  in  many  places  than  the  first,  and  more 
condensation  and  diligent  finishing  than  the  latter.”  Then 
pointing  attention  to  the  admired  poetry  of  the  day,  there 
was  added:  “We  have  endeavoured  on  former  occasions  to 
do  justice  to  the  force  and  originality  of  these  brilliant  pro- 
ductions, as  well  as  to  the  genius  fitted  for  higher  things  of 


180 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING, 


tlioir  authors;  and  have  little  doubt  of  being  soon  called 
upon  for  a renewed  tribute  of  applause.  But  we  cannot  help 
saying,  in  the  mean  time,  that  the  work  before  us  belongs  to 
a class  which  comes  nearer  to  our  conception  of  pure  and 
perfect  poetry.  Such  productions  do  not,  indeed,  strike  so 
strong  a blow  as  the  vehement  effusions  of  our  modern  Trou- 
veurs;  but  they  are  calculated,  we  think,  to  please  more 
deeply,  and  to  call  out  more  permanently  those  traits  of  na- 
ture in  which  the  delight  of  poetry  will  be  found  to  consist. 
They  may  not  be  so  loudly  nor  so  universally  applauded,  but 
their  fame  will  probably  endure  longer,  and  they  will  be 
oftener  recalled  to  mingle  with  the  reveries  of  solitary  leisure, 
or  the  consolations  of  real  sorrow.  There  is  a sort  of  poetry, 
no  doubt,  as  there  is  a sort  of  flowers,  which  can  bear  the 
broad  sun  and  the  ruffling  winds  of  the  world : which  thrive 
under  the  hands  and  eyes  of  indiscriminate  multitudes,  and 
please  as  much  in  hot  and  crowded  saloons  as  in  their  own 
sheltered  repositories ; but  the  finer  and  the  purer  sorts  blos- 
som only  in  the  shade,  and  never  give  out  their  sweets  but  to 
those  who  seek  them  amid  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of  the 
scenes  which  gave  them  birth.  There  are  torrents  and  cas- 
cades which  attract  the  admiration  of  tittering  parties,  and 
of  which  even  the  busy  must  turn  aside  to  catch  a transient 
glance;  but  the  haunted  stream  steals  thi'ough  a still  and 
solitary  landscape,  and  its  beauties  are  never  revealed  but  to 
him  who  strays  in  calm  contemplation,  by  its  course,  and 
follows  its  wanderings  with  undiminished  and  unimpatient 
admiration.” 


181 


LINES 

WRITTEN  AT  THE  REQUEST  OF  THE  HIGHLAND 
SOCIETY  OF  LONDON,  WHEN  MET  TO  COM- 
MEMORATE THE  21ST  OF  MARCH,  THE 
DAY  OF  VICTORY  IN  EGYPT. 

Pledge  to  the  much-loved  land  that  gave  us 
birth ! 

Invincible  romantic  Scotia’s  shore  ! 

Pledge  to  the  memory  of  her  parted  worth  ! 

And  first,  amidst  the  brave,  remember  Moore  ! 

And  be  it  deem’d  not  wrong  that  name  to  give, 

In  festive  hours,  which  prompts  the  patriot’s 
sigh ! 

Who  would  not  envy  such  as  Moore  to  live  ? 

And  died  he  not  as  heroes  wish  to  die  ? 

Yes,  though  too  soon  attaining  glory’s  goal. 

To  us  his  bright  career  too  short  was  given; 
Yet  in  a mighty  cause  his  phoenix  soul 
Pose  on  the  flames  of  victory  to  Heaven  ! 

How  oft  (if  beats  in  subjugated  Spain 

One  patriot  heart)  in  secret  shall  it  mourn 
For  him  ! — How  oft  on  far  Corunna’s  plain 
Shall  British  exiles  weep  upon  his  urn ! 


182 


LINES. 


Peace  to  the  mighty  dead ! — our  bosom  thanks 
In  sprightlier  strains  the  living  may  inspire ! 

Joy  to  the  chiefs  that  lead  old  Scotia’s  ranks, 

Of  Roman  garb  and  more  than  Roman  fire ! 

Triumphant  be  the  thistle  still  unfurl’d, 

Dear  symbol  wild  ! on  Freedom’s  hills  it  grows, 

Where  Fingal  stemm’d  the  tyrants  of  the  world, 
And  Roman  eagles  found  unconquer’d  foes. 

Joy  to  the  band^  this  day  on  Egypt’s  coast, 
Whose  valour  tamed  proud  France’s  tricolor. 

And  wrench’d  the  banner  from  her  bravest  host. 
Baptiz’d  Invincible  in  Austria’s  gore  ! 

Joy  for  the  day  on  red  Vimeira’s  strand. 

When,  bayonet  to  bayonet  opposed. 

First  of  Britannia’s  host  her  Highland  band 
Gave  but  the  death-shot  once,  and  foremost 
closed ! 

Is  there  a son  of  generous  England  here 
Or  fervid  Erin  ? — he  with  us  shall  join, 

To  pray  that  in  eternal  union  dear, 

The  rose,  the  shamrock,  and  the  thistle  twine 

Types  of  a race  who  shall  th’  invader  scorn. 

As  rocks  resist  the  billows  round  their  shore ; 

Types  of  a race  who  shall  to  time  unborn 
Their  country  leave  unconquer’d  as  of  yore  I 


1 The  42d  Regiment. 


1809. 


183 


STANZAS 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  SPANISH  PATRIOTS 
LATEST  KILLED  IN  RESISTING  THE 
REGENCY  AND  THE  DUKE 
OF  ANGOULEME 

Brave  men  who  at  the  Trocadero  fell — 

Beside  your  cannons  conquer’d  not,  though  slain. 
There  is  a victory  in  dying  well 
For  Freedom, — and  ye  have  not  died  in  vain  ; 
For,  come  what  may,  there  shall  be  hearts  in 
Spain 

To  honour,  ay,  embrace  your  martyr’d  lot. 
Cursing  the  Bigot’s  and  the  Bourbon’s  chain. 
And  looking  on  your  graves,  though  trophied  not, 
As  holier  hallow’d  ground  than  priests  could  make 
the  spot ! 

What  though  your  cause  be  baffled — ^freemen  cast 
In  dungeons — dragg’d  to  death,  or  forced  to  flee  ; 
Hope  is  not  wither’d  in  affliction’s  blast — 

The  patriot’s  blood’s  the  seed  of  Freedom’s  tree; 
And  short  your  orgies  of  revenge  shall  be, 

Cowl’d  demons  of  the  Inquisitorial  cell ! 

Earth  shudders  at  your  victory, — for  ye 


184 


STANZAS. 


Are  worse  than  common  fiends  from  Heaven  that 
fell, 

The  baser,  ranker  sprung.  Autochthones  of  Hell ! 

Go  to  your  bloody  rites  again — bring  back 
The  hall  of  horrors  and  the  assessor’s  pen. 
Recording  answers  shriek’d  upon  the  rack  ; 

Smile  o’er  the  gaspings  of  spine-broken  men  ; — 
Preach,  perpetrate  damnation  in  your  den  ; — 
Then  let  your  altars,  ye  blasphemers  ! peal 
With  thanks  to  Heaven,  that  let  you  loose  again, 
To  practise  deeds  with  torturing  fire  and  steel 
No  eye  may  search — no  tongue  may  challenge  or 
reveal ! 

Yet  laugh  not  in  your  carnival  of  crime 
Too  proudly,  ye  oppressors ! — Spain  was  free, 
Her  soil  has  felt  the  foot-prints,  and  her  clime 
Been  winnow’d  by  the  wings  of  Liberty ; 

And  these  even  parting  scatter  as  they  flee 
Thoughts — influences,  to  live  in  hearts  unborn. 
Opinions  that  shall  wrench  the  prison-key 
From  Persecution — show  her  mask  off-torn. 

And  tramp  her  bloated  head  beneath  the  foot  of 
Scorn. 

Glory  to  them  that  die  in  this  great  cause ; 

Kings,  Bigots,  can  inflict  no  brand  of  shame. 

Or  shape  of  death,  to  shroud  them  from  ap- 
plause : — 


SONG  OF  THE  GREEKS. 


185 


No ! — ^manglers  of  the  martyr’s  earthly  frame ! 
Your  hangmen  fingers  cannot  touch  his  fame  ! 
Still  in  your  prostrate  land  there  shall  be  some 
Proud  hearts,  the  shrines  of  Freedom’s  vestal 
flame. 

Long  trains  of  ill  may  pass  unheeded,  dumb, 

But  vengeance  is  behind,  and  justice  is  to  come. 

1823. 


SONG  OF  THE  GREEKS. 

Again  to  the  battle,  Achaians ! 

Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance  ! 

Our  land,  the  first  garden  of  Liberty’s  tree — 

It  has  been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the 
free : 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted, 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted. 

And  we  march  that  the  foot-prints  of  Mahomet’s 
slaves 

May  be  wash’d  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers 
graves. 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o’er  us. 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  us. 

Ah  ! what  though  no  succour  advances. 

Nor  Christendom’s  chivalrous  lances 


186 


SONG  OF  THE  GREEKS. 


Are  stretch’d  in  our  aid — ^be  the  combat  our 
own ! 

And  we  ’ll  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone ; 
For  we ’ve  sworn  by  our  Country’s  assaulters, 

By  the  virgins  they ’ve  dragg’d  from  our  altars, 
By  our  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains, 
By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That,  living,  we  shall  be  victorious. 

Or  that,  dying,  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

A breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not ; 

The  sword  that  we ’ve  drawn  we  will  sheathe 
not ! 

Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid. 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 
Earth  may  hide — waves  engulf — ^fire  consume  us, 
But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us : 

K they  rule,  it  shall  be  o’er  our  ashes  and  graves ; 
But  we 've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the 
waves. 

And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us. 

To  the  charge  ! — Heaven’s  banner  is  o’er  us. 

This  day  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story. 

Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory. 

Our  women,  oh,  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair. 
Or  embrace  us  from  conquest  with  wreaths  in 
their  hair  ? 

Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken. 

If  a coward  there  be  that  would  slacken 


SONG  OF  THE  GREEKS. 


187 


Till  we  Ve  trampled  the  turban,  and  shown  our- 
selves worth 

Being  sprung  from  and  named  for  the  godlike  of 
earth. 

Strike  home,  and  the  world  shall  revere  us 

As  heroes  descended  from  heroes 

Old  Greece  lightens  up  with  emotion 

Her  inlands,  her  isles  of  the  Ocean  ; 

Fanes  rebuilt  and  fair  towns  shall  with  jubilee  ring. 

And  the  Nine  shall  new-hallow  their  Helicon’s 
spring : 

Our  hearths  shall  be  kindled  in  gladness. 

That  were  cold  and  extinguish’d  in  sadness ; 

Whilst  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white- 
waving  arms. 

Singing  joy  to  the  brave  that  deliver’d  their 
charms. 

When  the  blood  of  yon  Mussulman  cravens 

Shall  have  purpled  the  beaks  of  our  ravens. 


188 


ODE  TO  WINTER. 

WuEN  first  the  fiery-mantled  sun 
His  heavenly  race  began  to  run  ; 

Round  the  earth  and  ocean  blue, 

His  children  four  the  Seasons  flew. 

First,  in  green  apparel  dancing. 

The  young  Spring  smiled  with  angel  grace ; 
Rosy  Summer  next  advancing, 

Rush’d  into  her  sire’s  embrace : — 

Her  bright-hair’d  sire,  who  bade  her  keep 
For  ever  nearest  to  his  smiles, 

On  Calpe’s  olive-shaded  steep. 

On  India’s  citron-cover’d  isles  : 

More  remote  and  buxom-brown, 

The  Queen  of  vintage  bow’d  before  his 
throne ; 

A rich  pomegranate  gemm’d  her  crown, 

A ripe  sheaf  bound  her  zone. 

But  howling  Winter  fled  afar, 

To  hills  that  prop  the  polar  star. 

And  loves  on  deer-borne  car  to  ride 
With  barren  Darkness  by  his  side. 

Round  the  shore  where  loud  Lofoden 
Whirls  to  death  the  roaring  whale. 


ODE  TO  WINTER. 


189 


Round  the  hall  where  Runic  Odin 
Howls  his  war-song  to  the  gale ; 

Save  when  adown  the  ravaged  globe 
He  travels  on  his  native  storm, 

Deflowering  Nature’s  grassy  robe, 

And  trampling  on  her  faded  form : — 

Till  light’s  returning  lord  assume 

The  shaft  that  drives  him  to  his  polar  field, 
Of  power  to  pierce  his  raven  plume 
And  crystal-cover’d  shield. 

Oh,  sire  of  storms ! whose  savage  ear 
The  Lapland  drum  delights  to  hear, 

When  Frenzy  with  her  blood-shot  eye 
Implores  thy  dreadful  deity. 

Archangel ! power  of  desolation ! 

Fast  descending  as  thou  art. 

Say,  hath  mortal  invocation 

Spells  to  touch  thy  stony  heart  ? 

Then,  sullen  Winter,  hear  my  prayer, 

And  gently  rule  the  ruin’d  year ; 

Nor  chill  the  wanderer’s  bosom  bare, 

Nor  freeze  the  wretch’s  falling  tear ; — 

To  shuddering  Want’s  unmantled  bed 
Thy  horror-breathing  agues  cease  to  lead, 
And  gently  on  the  orphan  head 
Of  innocence  descend. — 

But  chiefly  spare,  O king  of  clouds ! 

The  sailor  on  his  airy  shrouds ; 

When  wrecks  and  beacons  strew  the  steep, 
And  spectres  walk  along  the  deep. 


190 


LINES. 


Milder  yet  thy  snowy  breezes 
Pour  on, yonder  tented  shores, 

Where  the  Rhine’s  broad  billow  freezes, 

Or  the  dark-brown  Danube  roars. 

Oh,  winds  of  Winter ! list  ye  there 
To  many  a deep  and  dying  groan ; 

Or  start,  ye  demons  of  the  midnight  air. 

At  shrieks  and  thunders  louder  than  your  own. 

Alas ! ev’n  your  unhallow’d  breath 
May  spare  the  victim  fallen  low ; 

But  man  will  ask  no  truce  to  death, — 

No  bounds  to  human  woe. 


LINES. 

SrOKEN  BY  MRS.  BARTLEY  AT  DRURY-LANE  THEA 
TRE,  ON  THE  FIRST  OPENING  OF  THE  HOUSE 
AFTER  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  PRINCESS 
CHARLOTTE,  1817. 

Britons  ! although  our  task  is  but  to  show 
The  scenes  and  passions  of  fictitious  woe. 

Think  not  we  come  this  night  without  a part 
In  that  deep  sorrow  of  the  public  heart. 

Which  like  a shade  hath  darken’d  every  place, 
And  moisten’d  with  a tear  the  manliest  face ! 
The  bell  is  scarcely  hush’d  in  Windsor’s  piles, 
That  toll’d  a requiem  from  the  solemn  aisles. 


LINES. 


191 


For  her,  the  royal  flower,  low  laid  in  dust, 

That  was  your  fairest  hope,  your  fondest  trust. 
Unconscious  of  the  doom,  we  dreamt,  alas ! 

That  ev’n  these  walls,  ere  many  months  should 
pass. 

Which  but  return  sad  accents  for  her  now, 
Perhaps  had  witness’d  her  benignant  brow, 
Cheer’d  by  the  voice  you  would  have  raised  on 
high. 

In  bursts  of  British  love  and  loyalty. 

But,  Britain ! now  thy  chief,  thy  people  mourn, 
And  Claremont’s  home  of  love  is  left  forlorn : — 
There,  where  the  happiest  of  the  happy  dwelt 
The  ’scutcheon  glooms,  and  royalty  hath  felt 
A wound  that  every  bosom  feels  its  own, — 

The  blessing  of  a father’s  heart  o’erthrown — 

The  most  beloved  and  most  devoted  bride 
Torn  from  an  agonized  husband’s  side. 

Who  “ long  as  Memory  holds  her  seat  ” shall  view 
That  speechless,  more  than  spoken  last  adieu. 
When  the  fix’d  eye  long  look’d  connubial  faith. 
And  beam’d  affection  in  the  trance  of  death. 

Sad  was  the  pomp  that  yesternight'beheld, 

As  with  the  mourner’s  heart  the  anthem  swell’d ; 
While  torch  succeeding  torch  illumed  each  high 
And  banner’d  arch  of  England’s  chivalry. 

The  rich  plumed  canopy,  the  gorgeous  pall. 

The  sacred  march,  and  sable-vested  wall, — 

These  were  not  rites  of  inexpressive  show, 

But  hallow’d  as  the  types  of  real  woe  1 


192 


LINES. 


Daughter  of  England ! for  a nation  sighs, 

A nation’s  heart,  went  with  thine  obsequies ! — 
And  oft  shall  time  revert  a look  of  grief 
On  thine  existence,  beautiful  and  brief. 

Fair  spirit ! send  thy  blessing  from  above 
On  realms  where  thou  art  canonized  by  love  t 
Give  to  a father’s,  husband’s  bleeding  mind, 

The  peace  that  angels  lend  to  human  kind ; 

To  us  who  in  thy  loved  remembrance  feel 
A sorrowing,  but  a soul-ennobling  zeal — 

A loyalty  that  touches  all  the  best 

And  loftiest  principles  of  England’s  breast ! 

Still  may  thy  name  speak  concord  from  the  tomb— » 
Still  in  the  Muse’s  breath  thy  memory  bloom ! 
They  shall  describe  thy  life — thy  form  portray ; 
But  all  the  love  that  mourns  thee  swept  away, 
'Tis  not  in  language  or  expressive  arts 
To  paint — ^ye  feel  it,  Britons,  in  your  hearts  I 


iJ3 


LINES  ON  THE  GRAVE  OF  A SUICIDE. 

By  strangers  left  upon  a lonely  shore, 

Unknown,  unlionour’d,  was  the  friendless  dead ; 
For  child  to  weep,  or  widow  to  deplore, 

There  never  came  to  his  unburied  head  : — 

All  from  his  dreary  habitation  fled. 

Nor  will  the  lantern’d  fisherman  at  eve 

Launch  on  that  water  by  the  witches’  tower, 
Where  hellebore  and  hemlock  seem  to  weave 
Round  its  dark  vaults  a melancholy  bower 
For  spirits  of  the  dead  at  night’s  enchanted  hour. 

They  dread  to  meet  thee,  poor  unfortunate  ! 

Whose  crime  it  was,  on  Life’s  unfinish’d  road. 
To  feel  the  step-dame  buffetings  of  fate. 

And  render  back  thy  being’s  heavy  load. 

Ah ! once,  perhaps,  the  social  passions  glow’d 
In  thy  devoted  bosom — and  the  hand 

That  smote  its  kindred  heart,  might  yet  be  prone 
To  deeds  of  mercy.  Who  may  understand 
Thy  many  woes,  poor  suicide,  unknown  ? — 

He  who  thy  being  gave  shall  judge  of  thee  alone. 


13 


1801. 


191 


REULLUKA.1 

Star  of  the  morn  and  eve, 

Reullura  shone  like  thee, 

And  well  for  her  might  Aodh  grieve. 

The  dark-attired  Culdee. 

Peace  to  their  shades ! the  pure  Culdees 
Were  Albjn’s  earliest  priests  of  God, 

Ere  yet  an  island  of  her  seas 
By  foot  of  Saxon  monk  was  trod. 

Long  ere  her  churchmen  by  bigotry 
Were  barr’d  from  wedlock’s  holy  tie. 

’Twas  then  that  Aodh,  famed  afar. 

In  Iona  preach’d  the  word  with  power, 

And  Reullura,  beauty’s  star, 

Was  the  partner  of  his  bower. 

But,  Aodh,  the  roof  lies  low. 

And  the  thistle-down  waves  bleaching. 

And  the  bat  flits  to  and  fro 

Where  the  Gael  once  heard  thy  preaching ; 
And  fallen  is  each  column’d  aisle 

Where  the  chiefs  and  the  people  knelt. 


1 Reullura,  in  Gaelic,  signifies  “ beautiful  star.” 


REULLURA. 


195 


'Twas  near  that  temple’s  goodly  pile 
That  honoured  of  men  they  dwelt. 

For  Aodh  was  wise  in  the  sacred  law, 

And  bright  Reullura’s  eyes  oft  saw 
The  veil  of  fate  uplifted. 

Alas,  with  what  visions  of  awe 

Her  soul  in  that  hour  was  gifted — 

When  pale  in  the  temple  and  faint, 

With  Aodh  she  stood  alone 
By  the  statue  of  an  aged  Saint ! 

Fair  sculptured  was  the  stone, 

It  bore  a crucifix  ; 

Fame  said  it  once  had  graced 
A Christain  temple,  which  the  Piets 
In  the  Britons’  land  laid  waste  : 

The  Pictish  men,  by  St.  Columb  taught, 

Had  hither  the  holy  relic  brought, 

Reullura  eyed  the  statue’s  face. 

And  cried,  ‘‘  It  is,  he  shall  come, 

Even  he,  in  this  very  place. 

To  avenge  my  martyrdom. 

For,  woe  to  the  Gael  people  ! 

Ulvfagre  is  on  the  main. 

And  Iona  shall  look  from  tower  and  steeple 
On  the  coming  ships  of  the  Dane  ; 

And,  dames  and  daughters,  shall  all  your  locks 
With  the  spoiler’s  grasp  entwine  ? 

No ! some  shall  have  shelter  in  caves  and 
rocks, 


196 


REULLURA. 


And  the  deep  sea  shall  be  mine. 

Baffled  by  me  shall  the  Dane  return, 

And  here  shall  his  torch  in  the  temple  bum 
Until  that  holy  man  shall  plough 
The  waves  from  Innisfail. 

His  sail  is  on  the  deep  e’en  now, 

And  swells  to  the  southern  gale.” 

“ Ah ! know’st  thou  not,  my  bride,” 

The  holy  Aodh  said, 

“ That  the  Saint  whose  form  we  stand  beside 
Has  for  ages  slept  with  the  dead  ? ” 

“He  liveth,  he  liveth,”  she  said  again, 

“ For  the  span  of  his  life  tenfold  extends 
Beyond  the  wonted  years  of  men. 

He  sits  by  the  graves  of  well-loved  friends 
That  died  ere  thy  grandsire’s  grandsire’s  birth; 
The  oak  is  decay’d  with  age  on  earth, 

Whose  acorn-seed  had  been  planted  by  him ; 

And  his  parents  remember  the  day  of  dread 
When  the  sun  on  the  cross  look’d  dim. 

And  the  graves  gave  up  their  dead. 

Yet  preaching  from  clime  to  clime. 

He  hath  roam’d  the  earth  for  ages. 

And  hither  he  shall  come  in  time 

When  the  wrath  of  the  heathen  rages, 

In  time  a remnant  from  the  sword — 

Ah  ! but  a remnant  to  deliver ; 

Yet,  blest  be  the  name  of  the  Lord ! 

His  martyrs  shall  go  into  bliss  for  ever. 


REULLURA. 


197 


Loclilin,'  appall’d,  shall  put  up  her  steel, 

And  thou  shalt  embark  on  the  bounding  keel ; 
Safe  shall  thou  pass  through  her  hundred  ships, 
With  the  Saint  and  a remnant  of  the  Gael, 
And  the  Lord  will  instruct  thy  lips 
To  preach  in  Innisfail.”  ^ 

The  sun,  now  about  to  set, 

Was  burning  o’er  Tiree, 

And  no  gathering  cry  rose  yet 
O’er  the  isles  of  Albyn’s  sea, 

Whilst  Reullura  saw  far  rowers  dip 
Their  oars  beneath  the  sun, 

And  the  phantom  of  many  a Danish  ship. 
Where  ship  there  yet  was  none. 

And  the  shield  of  alarm  was  dumb, 

Nor  did  their  warning  till  midnight  come. 

When  watch-fires  burst  from  across  the  main, 
From  Rona,  and  Uist,  and  Skye, 

To  tell  that  the  ships  of  the  Dane 
And  the  red-hair’d  slayers  were  nigh. 

Our  islemen  arose  from  slumbers. 

And  buckled  on  their  arms  ; 

But  few,  alas  I were  their  numbers 
To  Lochlin’s  mailed  swarms. 

And  the  blade  of  the  bloody  Norse 
Has  fill’d  the  shores  of  the  Gael 


1 Denmaik. 


2 Ireland. 


J98 


REULLURA. 


With  many  a floating  corse, 

And  with  many  a woman’s  wail. 

They  have  lighted  the  islands  with  ruin’s  torch, 
And  the  holy  men  of  Iona’s  church 
In  the  temple  of  God  lay  slain ; 

All  but  Aodh,  the  last  Culdee, 

But  bound  with  many  an  iron  chain, 

Bound  in  that  church  was  he. 

And  where  is  Aodh’s  bride  ? 

Rocks  of  the  ocean  flood ! 

Plunged  she  not  from  your  heights  in  pride, 

And  mock’d  the  men  of  blood  ? 

Then  Ulvfagre  and  his  bands 

In  the  temple  lighted  their  banquet  up, 

And  the  print  of  their  blood-red  hands 
Was  left  on  the  altar  cup. 

’Twas  then  that  the  Norseman  to  Aodh  said, 

“ Tell  where  thy  church’s  treasure ’s  laid. 

Or  I ’ll  hew  thee  limb  from  limb.” 

As  he  spoke  the  bell  struck  three. 

And  every  torch  grew  dim 
That  lighted  their  revelry. 

But  the  torches  again  burnt  bright. 

And  brighter  than  before. 

When  an  aged  man  of  majestic  height 
Enter’d  the  temple  door. 

Hush’d  was  the  revellers’  sound, 

They  were  struck  as  mute  as  the  dead. 

And  their  hearts  were  appall’d  by  the  very  sound 


REULLURA. 


199 


Of  his  footsteps’  measured  tread. 

Nor  word  was  spoken  by  one  beholder, 

Whilst  he  flung  his  white  robe  back  o’er  hia 
shoulder, 

And  stretching  his  arms — as  eath 
Unriveted  Aodh’s  bands. 

As  if  the  gyves  had  been  a wreath 
Of  willows  in  his  hands. 

All  saw  the  stranger’s  similitude 
To  the  ancient  statue’s  form ; 

The  Saint  before  his  own  image  stood. 

And  grasp’d  Ulvfagre’s  arm. 

Then  up  rose  the  Danes  at  last  to  deliver 
Their  chief,  and  shouting  with  one  accord, 
They  drew  the  shaft  from  its  rattling  quiver. 
They  lifted  the  spear  and  sword. 

And  levell’d  their  spears  in  rows. 

But  down  went  axes  and  spears  and  bows, 

When  the  Saint  with  his  crosier  sign’d, 

The  archer’s  hand  on  the  string  was  stopt, 

And  down,  like  reeds  laid  flat  by  the  wind. 

Their  lifted  weapons  dropt. 

The  Saint  then  gave  a signal  mute, 

And  though  Ulvfagre  will’d  it  not, 

He  came  and  stood  at  the  statue’s  foot, 
Spell-riveted  to  the  spot, 

Till  hands  invisible  shook  the  wall. 

And  the  tottering  image  was  dash’d 
Down  from  its  lofty  pedestal. 


200 


REULLURA. 


On  Ulvfagre’s  helm  it  crash’d — 

Helmet,  and  skull,  and  flesh,  and  brain, 

It  crush’d  as  millstones  crush  the  grain. 

Then  spoke  the  Saint,  whilst  all  and  each 
Of  the  Heathen  trembled  round, 

And  the  pauses  amidst  his  speech 
Were  as  awful  as  the  sound : 

Go  back,  ye  wolves  ! to  your  dens  ” (he  cried), 
“And  tell  the  nations  abroad, 

How  the  fiercest  of  your  herd  has  died. 

That  slaughter’d  the  flock  of  God. 

Gather  him  bone  by  bone. 

And  take  with  you  o’er  the  flood 
The  fragments  of  that  avenging  stone 
That  drank  his  heathen  blood. 

These  are  the  spoils  from  Iona’s  sack. 

The  only  spoils  ye  shall  carry  back  ; 

For  the  hand  that  uplifteth  spear  or  sword 
Shall  be  wither’d  by  palsy’s  shock. 

And  I come  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 
To  deliver  a remnant  of  his  flock.” 

A remnant  was  call’d  together, 

A doleful  remnant  of  the  Gael, 

And  the  Saint  in  the  ship  that  had  brought  him 
hither 

Took  the  mourners  to  Innisfail. 

Lnscathed  they  left  Iona’s  strand, 

When  the  opal  mom  first  flush’d  the  sky, 


REULLURA. 


201 


For  the  Norse  dropt  spear,  and  bow,  and  brand, 
And  look’d  on  them  silently ; 

Safe  from  their  hiding-places  came 
Orphans  and  mothers,  child  and  dame : 

But,  alas ! when  the  search  for  Reiillura  spread, 
No  answering  voice  was  given. 

For  the  sea  had  gone  o’er  her  lovely  head. 

And  her  spirit  was  in  Heaven. 

1824. 


202 


THE  TURKISH  LADY. 

TDwas  the  hour  when  rites  unholy 
Call’d  each  Paynim  voice  to  prayer. 

And  the  star  that  faded  slowly 
Left  to  dews  the  freshen’d  air. 

Day  her  sultry  fires  had  wasted, 

Calm  and  sweet  the  moonlight  rose ; 

Ev’n  a captive  spirit  tasted 
Half  oblivion  of  his  woes. 

Then  ’twas  from  an  Emir’s  palace 
Came  an  Eastern  lady  bright : 

She,  in  spite  of  tyrants  jealous. 

Saw  and  loved  an  English  knight. 

“ Tell  me,  captive,  why  in  anguish 
Foes  have  dragg’d  thee  here  to  dwell, 

Where  poor  Christians  as  they  languish 
Hear  no  sound  of  Sabbath  bell  ? ” — 

“ ’Twas  on  Transylvania’s  Bannet, 
When  the  Crescent  shone  afar, 


THE  TURKISH  LADY. 


203 


Like  a pale  disastrous  planet 
O’er  the  purple  tide  of  war — 

In  that  day  of  desolation, 

Lady,  I was  captive  made; 

Bleeding  for  my  Christian  nation 
By  the  walls  of  high  Belgrade.’^ 

‘‘  Captive  ! could  the  brightest  jewel 
From  my  turban  set  thee  free  ? ” 

“ Lady,  no  ! — the  gift  were  cruel. 

Ransom’d,  yet  if  reft  of  thee. 

Say,  fair  princess  ! would  it  grieve  thee 
Christian  climes  should  we  behold  ? ” — 

“ Nay,  bold  knight ! I would  not  leave  thee 
Were  thy  ransom  paid  in  gold  ! ” 

Now  in  Heaven’s  blue  expansion 
Rose  the  midnight  star  to  view. 

When  to  quit  her  father’s  mansion 
Thrice  she  wept,  and  bade  adieu ! 

Fly  we  then,  while  none  discover ! 

Tyrant  barks,  in  vain  ye  ride  ! ” — 

Soon  at  Rhodes  the  British  lover 
Clasp’d  his  blooming  Eastern  bride. 


1800. 


204 


THE  BRAVE  ROLAHD. 

The  brave  Roland ! — the  brave  Roland ! — 

False  tidings  reach’d  the  Rhenish  strand 
That  he  had  fall’n  in  fight ; 

Ajid  thy  faithful  bosom  swoon’d  with  pain, 

0 loveliest  maid  of  Allemayne  1 

For  the  loss  of  thine  own  true  knight 

But  why  so  rash  has  she  ta’en  the  veil. 

In  yon  Nonnenwerder’s  cloisters  pale  ? 

For  her  vow  had  scarce  been  sworn, 

And  the  fatal  mantle  o’er  her  flung, 

When  the  Drachenfels  to  a trumpet  rung — 
’Twas  her  own  dear  warrior’s  horn ! 

Woe ! woe  ! each  heart  shall  bleed — shall  bi’eak  1 
She  would  have  hung  upon  his  neck, 

Had  he  come  but  yester-even ! 

And  he  had  clasp’d  those  peerless  charms, 

That  shall  never,  never  fill  his  arms. 

Or  meet  him  but  in  heaven. 

Yet  Roland  the  brave — Roland  the  true — 

He  could  not  bid  that  spot  adieu  ; 

It  was  dear  still  midst  his  woes  ; 


THE  BRAVE  ROLAND. 


205 


For  he  loved  to  breathe  the  neighbouring  air, 
And  to  think  she  bless’d  him  in  her  prayer, 
When  the  Halleluiah  rose. 

There ’s  yet  one  window  of  that  pile, 

Which  he  built  above  the  Nun’s  green  isle ; 

Thence  sad  and  oft  look’d  he 
(When  the  chant  and  organ  sounded  slow) 

On  the  mansion  of  his  love  below, 

For  herself  he  might  not  see. 

She  died ! — ^he  sought  the  battle-plain ; 

Her  image  fill’d  his  dying  brain, 

When  he  fell  and  wish’d  to  fall : 

And  her  name  was  in  his  latest  sigh, 

When  Roland,  the  fiower  of  chivalry. 
Expired  at  Roncevall. 

1820, 


206 


THE  SPECTRE  BOAT. 

A BALLAD. 

Light  rued  false  Ferdinand  to  leave  a lovely 
maid  forlorn, 

Who  broke  her  heart  and  died  to  hide  her  blush- 
ing cheek  from  scorn. 

One  night  he  dreamt  he  woo’d  her  in  their  wonted 
bower  of  love, 

Where  the  flowers  sprang  thick  around  them,  and 
the  birds  sang  sweet  above. 

But  the  scene  was  swiftly  changed  into  a church- 
yard’s dismal  view. 

And  her  lips  grew  black  beneath  his  kiss,  from 
love’s  delicious  hue. 

What  more  he  dreamt,  he  told  to  none  ; but  shud- 
dering, pale,  and  dumb. 

Look’d  out  upon  the  waves,  like  one  that  knew 
his  hour  was  come. 

’Twas  now  the  dead  watch  of  the  night — the  helm 
was  lashed  a-lee, 

And  the  ship  rode  where  Mount  -dEtna  lights  the 
deep  Levantine  sea ; 


THE  SPECTRE  BOAT. 


207 


When  beneath  its  glare  a boat  came,  row’d  bj  a 
woman  in  her  shroud, 

Who,  with  ejes  that  made  our  blood  run  cold, 
stood  up  and  spoke  aloud : — 

Come,  Traitor,  down,  for  whom  mj  ghost  still 
wanders  unforgiven ! 

Come  down,  false  Ferdinand,  for  whom  I broke 
mj  peace  with  heaven  ! ” — 

It  was  vain  to  hold  the  victim,  for  he  plunged  to 
meet  her  call. 

Like  the  bird  that  shrieks  and  flutters  in  the  gazing 
serpent’s  thrall. 

You  may  guess  the  boldest  mariner  shrunk 
daunted  from  the  sight. 

For  the  Spectre  and  her  winding-sheet  shone  blue 
with  hideous  light ; 

Like  a fiery  wheel  the  boat  spun  with  the  waving 
of  her  hand, 

And  round  they  went,  and  down  they  went,  as  the 
cock  crew  from  the  land. 


1809. 


20S 


THE  LOVER  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 

ON  HER  BIRTH-DAY. 

Ip  any  white-wing’d  Power  above 
My  joys  and  griefs  survey, 

The  day  when  thou  wert  born,  my  love— 
He  surely  bless’d  that  day. 

I laugh’d  (till  taught  by  thee)  when  told 
Of  Beauty’s  magic  powers, 

That  ripen’d  life’s  dull  ore  to  gold. 

And  changed  its  weeds  to  flowers. 

My  mind  had  lovely  shapes  portray’d ; 

But  thought  I earth  had  one 

Could  make  even  Fancy’s  visions  fade 
Like  stars  before  the  sun  ? 

I gazed,  and  felt  upon  my  lips 
The  unfinish’d  accents  hang : 

One  moment’s  bliss,  one  burning  kiss. 

To  rapture  changed  each  pang. 


SONG. 


209 


And  though  as  swift  as  lightning’s  flash 
Those  tranced  moments  flew, 

Not  all  the  waves  of  time  shall  wash 
Their  memory  from  my  view. 

But  duly  shall  my  raptured  song, 

And  gladly  shall  my  eyes. 

Still  bless  this  day’s  return,  as  long 
As  thou  shalt  see  it  rise. 


SONG. 

Oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  find 
The  one  just  suited  to  our  mind ; 

And  if  that  one  should  be 
False,  unkind,  or  found  too  late, 

What  can  we  do  but  sigh  at  fate, 

And  sing,  Woe ’s  me — Woe ’s  me  ? 

Love ’s  a boundless  burning  waste. 

Where  Bliss’s  stream  we  seldom  taste, 

And  still  more  seldom  flee 
Suspense’s  thorns,  Suspicion’s  stings  ; 

Yet  somehow  Love  a something  brings 
That’s  sweet — ev’n  when  we  sigh  ‘ Woe ’s  me ! 


14 


210 


ADELGITHA. 

The  ordeal’s  latal  trumpet  sounded, 

And  sad  pale  Adelgitha  came, 

When  forth  a valiant  champion  bounded, 

And  slew  the  slanderer  of  her  fame. 

She  wept,  deliver’d  from  her  danger ; 

But  when  he  knelt  to  claim  her  glove — 
Seek  not,”  she  cried,  “ oh  ! gallant  stranger, 
For  hapless  Adelgitha’s  love. 

For  he  is  in  a foreign  far  land 
Whose  arms  should  now  have  set  me  free  ; 
And  I must  wear  the  willow  garland 
For  him  that ’s  dead,  or  false  to  me.” 

“ Nay ! say  not  that  his  faith  is  tainted ! ” — 
He  raised  his  vizor — At  the  sight 
She  fell  into  his  arms  and  fainted ; 

It  was  indeed  her  own  true  knight  I 


211 


LINES 

ON  RECEIVING  A SEAL  WITH  THE  CAMPBELL 
CREST,  FROM  K.  M — , BEFORE  HER 
MARRIAGE. 

This  wax  returns  not  back  more  fair 
Th’  impression  of  the  gift  you  send, 

Than  stamp’d  upon  my  thoughts  I bear 
The  image  of  your  worth,  my  friend  !— 

We  are  not  friends  of  yesterday  ; — 

But  poets’  fancies  are  a little 
Disposed  to  heat  and  cool,  (they  say,) — 

By  turns  impressible  and  brittle. 

Well ! should  its  frailty  e’er  condemn 
My  heart  to  prize  or  please  you  less, 

Your  type  is  still  the  sealing  gem, 

And  mine  the  waxen  brittleness. 

What  transcripts  of  my  weal  and  woe 
This  little  signet  yet  may  lock, — 

What  utterances  to  friend  or  foe. 

In  reason’s  calm  or  passion’s  shock  ! 


212 


UNES. 


What  scenes  of  life’s  yet  curtain’d  stage 
May  own  its  confidential  die, 

Whose  stamp  awaits  th’  unwritten  page, 
And  feelings  of  futurity ! — 

Yet  wheresoe’er  my  pen  I lift 
To  date  the  epistolary  sheet, 

The  blest  occasion  of  the  gift 

Shall  make  its  recollection  sweet ; 

Sent  when  the  star  that  rules  your  fates 
Hath  reach’d  its  influence  most  benign — 
When  every  heart  congratulates. 

And  none  more  cordially  than  mine. 

So  speed  my  song — mark’d  with  the  crest 
That  erst  the  advent’rous  Norman  wore, 
Who  won  the  Lady  of  the  West 
The  daughter  of  Macaillan  Mor. 

Crest  of  my  sires ! whose  blood  it  seal’d 
With  glory  in  the  strife  of  swords, 

Ne’er  may  the  scroll  that  bears  it  yield 
Degenerate  thoughts  or  faithless  words ! 

Yet  little  might  I prize  the  stone. 

If  it  but  typed  the  feudal  tree 
From  whence,  a scattered  leaf,  I’m  blown 
In  Fortune’s  mutability. 


GILDEROT. 


213 


No  ! — ^but  it  tells  me  of  a heart 
Allied  by  friendship’s  living  tie ; 

A prize  beyond  the  herald’s  art — 

Our  soul-sprung  consanguinity  I 

Kath’rine  ! to  many  an  hour  of  mine 
Light  wings  and  sunshine  you  have  lent ; 
And  so  adieu,  and  still  be  thine 
The  all-in-all  of  life — Content ! 

1817. 


GILDEROY. 

The  last,  the  fatal  hour  is  come. 

That  bears  my  love  from  me  : 

I hear  the  dead  note  of  the  drum, 

I mark  the  gallows’  tree ! 

The  bell  has  toll’d  ; it  shakes  my  heart ; 

The  trumpet  speaks  thy  name ; 

And  must  my  Gilderoy  depart 
To  bear  a death  of  shame  ? 

No  bosom  trembles  for  thy  doom ; 

No  mourner  wipes  a tear ; 

The  gallows’  foot  is  all  thy  tomb, 

The  sledge  is  all  thy  bier. 


214 


GILDEROY. 


Oh,  Gilderoj ! bethought  we  then 
So  soon,  so  sad  to  part. 

When  first  in  Roslin’s  lovely  glen 
You  triumph’d  o’er  my  heart  ? 

Your  locks  they  glitter’d  to  the  sheen, 
Your  hunter  garb  was  trim ; 

And  graceful  was  the  ribbon  green 
That  bound  your  manly  limb ! 

Ah ! little  thought  I to  deplore 
Those  limbs  in  fetters  bound  ; 

Or  hear,  upon  the  scafibld  floor, 

The  midnight  hammer  sound. 

Ye  cruel,  cruel,  that  combined 
The  guiltless  to  pursue  ; 

My  Gilderoy  was  ever  kind. 

He  could  not  injure  you ! 

A long  adieu ! but  where  shall  fly 
Thy  widow  all  forlorn, 

When  every  mean  and  cruel  eye 
Regards  my  woe  with  scorn  ? 

Yes  ! they  will  mock  thy  widow’s  tears, 
And  hate  thine  orphan  boy ; 

Alas ! his  infant  beauty  wears 
The  form  of  Gilderoy. 


STANZAS. 


215 


Then  will  I seek  the  dreary  mound 
That  wraps  thy  mouldering  clay, 
And  weep  and  linger  on  the  ground, 
And  sigh  my  heart  away. 


STANZAS 

ON  THE  THREATENED  INVASION. 

1803. 

Our  bosoms  we  ’ll  bare  for  the  glorious  strife, 
And  our  oath  is  recorded  on  high, 

To  prevail  in  the  cause  that  is  dearer  than  life, 
Or  crush’d  in  its  ruins  to  die ! 

Then  rise,  fellow  freemen,  and  stretch  the  right 
hand. 

And  swear  to  prevail  in  your  dear  native  land ! 

’Tis  the  home  we  hold  sacred  is  laid  to  our  trust — 
God  bless  the  green  Isle  of  the  brave  ! 

Should  a conqueror  tread  on  our  forefathers’  dust. 
It  would  rouse  the  old  dead  from  their  grave  1 
Then  rise,  fellow  freemen,  and  stretch  the  right 
hand. 

And  swear  to  prevail  in  your  dear  native  land ! 


216 


STANZAS. 


In  a Briton’s  sweet  liome  shall  a spoiler  abide, 
Profaning  its  loves  and  its  charms  ? 

Shall  a Frenchman  insult  the  loved  fair  at  our 
side? 

To  arms ! oh,  my  Country,  to  arms ! 

Then  rise,  fellow  freemen,  and  stretch  the  right 
hand. 

And  swear  to  prevail  in  your  dear  native  land ! 

Shall  a tyrant  enslave  us,  my  countrymen ! — No ! 
His  head  to  the  sword  shall  be  given — 

A death-bed  repentance  be  taught  the  proud  foe, 
And  his  blood  be  an  offering  to  Heaven ! 

Then  rise,  fellow  freemen,  and  stretch  the  right 
hand. 

And  swear  to  prevail  in  your  dear  native  land  1 


217 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 

The  Ritter  Bann  from  Hungary 
Came  back,  renown’d  in  arms, 

But  scorning  jousts  of  chivalry, 

And  love  and  ladies’  charms. 

While  other  knights  held  revels,  he 
Was  rapt  in  thoughts  of  gloom. 

And  in  Vienna’s  hostelrie 
Slow  paced  his  lonely  room. 

There  enter’d  one  whose  face  he  knew, — 
Whose  voice,  he  was  aware, 

He  oft  at  mass  had  listen’d  to 
In  the  holy  house  of  prayer. 

^was  the  Abbot  of  St.  James’s  monks, 

A fresh  and  fair  old  man : 

His  reverend  air  arrested  even 
The  gloomy  Ritter  Bann. 

But  seeing  with  him  an  ancient  dame 
Come  clad  in  Scotch  attire, 

The  Ritter’s  colour  went  and  came. 

And  loud  he  spoke  in  ire ; 


218 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 


‘‘  Ha ! nurse  of  her  that  was  my  bane, 
Name  not  her  name  to  me ; 

I wish  it  blotted  from  my  brain : 

Art  poor  ? — take  alms,  and  flee,” 

Sir  Knight,”  the  abbot  interposed, 

‘‘  This  case  your  ear  demands ; ” 

And  the  crone  cried,  with  a cross  enclosed 
In  both  her  trembling  hands, 

‘‘  Remember,  each  his  sentence  waits ; 

And  he  that  shall  rebut 
Sweet  Mercy’s  suit,  on  him  the  gates 
Of  Mercy  shall  be  shut. 

You  wedded,  undispensed  by  Church, 
Your  cousin  Jane  in  Spring ; — 

In  Autumn,  when  you  went  to  search 
For  churchman’s  pardoning. 

Her  house  denounced  your  marriage-band, 
Betroth’d  her  to  De  Grey, 

And  the  ring  you  put  upon  her  hand 
Was  wrench’d  by  force  away. 

Then  wept  your  Jane  upon  my  neck, 
Crying,  ‘ Help  me,  nurse,  to  flee 
To  my  Howel  Bann’s  Glamorgan  hills;* 
But  word  arrived — ah  me ! — 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 


219 


iTou  were  not  there ; and  ’twas  their  threat, 
By  foul  means  or  by  fair, 

To-morrow  morning  was  to  set 
The  seal  on  her  despair. 

1 had  a son,  a sea-boy,  in 
A ship  at  Hartland  Bay, 

By  his  aid  from  her  cruel  kin 
I bore  my  bird  away. 

To  Scotland  from  the  Devon’s 
Green  myrtle  shores  we  fled ; 

And  the  Hand  that  sent  the  ravens 
To  Elijah,  gave  us  bread. 

She  wrote  you  by  my  son,  but  he 
From  England  sent  us  word 

You  had  gone  into  some  far  countrie, 

In  grief  and  gloom  he  heard. 

For  they  that  wrong’d  you,  to  elude 
Your  wrath,  defamed  my  child ; 

And  you — ay,  blush.  Sir,  as  you  should — 
Believed,  and  were  beguiled. 

To  die  but  at  your  feet,  she  vow’d 
To  roam  the  world ; and  we 

Would  both  have  sped  and  begg’d  our  bread. 
But  so  it  might  not  be. 


220 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 


For  when  the  snow-storm  beat  our  roof, 
She  bore  a boy,  Sir  Bann, 

Who  grew  as  fair  your  likeness’  proof 
As  child  e’er  grew  like  man. 


’Twas  smiling  on  that  babe  one  morn 
While  heath  bloom’d  on  the  moor, 

Her  beauty  struck  young  Lord  Kinghom 
As  he  hunted  past?  our  door. 

She  shunn’d  him,  but  he  raved  of  Jane, 
And  roused  his  mother’s  pride : 

Who  came  to  us  in  high  disdain, — 

‘And  where ’s  the  face,’  she  cried, 

Has  witch’d  my  boy  to  wish  for  one 
So  wretched  for  his  wife  ? — 

Dost  love  thy  husband  ? Know,  my  son 
Has  sworn  to  seek  his  life.’ 

Her  anger  sore  dismayed  us. 

For  our  mite  was  wearing  scant, 

And,  unless  that  dame  would  aid  us, 
There  was  none  to  aid  our  want. 

So  I told  her,  weeping  bitterly, 

What  all  our  woes  had  been ; 

Ajid,  though  she  was  a stern  ladie, 

The  tears  stood  in  her  een. 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 


221 


And  she  housed  us  both,  when,  cheerfully. 
My  child  to  her  had  sworn, 

That  even  if  made  a widow,  she 
Would  never  wed  Kinghorn.” 

Here  paused  the  nurse,  and  then  began 
The  abbot,  standing  by : — 

“ Three  months  ago  a wounded  man 
To  our  abbey  came  to  die. 

He  heard  me  long,  with  ghastly  eyes 
And  hand  obdurate  clench’d. 

Spoke  of  the  worm  that  never  dies. 

And  the  fire  that  is  not  quench’d. 

At  last  by  what  this  scroll  attests 
He  left  atonement  brief. 

For  years  of  anguish  to  the  breasts 
His  guilt  had  wrung  with  grief, 

* There  lived,’  he  said,  ‘ a fair  young  dame 
Beneath  my  mother’s  roof ; 

I loved  her,  but  against  my  flame 
Her  purity  was  proof. 

I feign’d  repentance,  friendship  pure ; 

That  mood  she  did  not  check. 

But  let  her  husband’s  miniature 
Be  copied  from  her  neck, 


222 


THE  RITTER  BANK. 


As  means  to  search  him ; my  deceit 
Took  care  to  him  was  borne 

Nought  but  his  picture’s  counterfeit, 

And  Jane’s  reported  scorn. 

The  treachery  took : she  waited  wild ; 

My  slave  came  back  and  lied 

Whate’er  I wish’d ; she  clasp’d  her  child, 

And  swoon’d,  and  all  but  died. 

I felt  her  tears  for  years  and  years 
Quench  not  my  flame,  but  stir ; 

The  very  hate  I bore  her  mate 
Increased  my  love  for  her. 

Fame  told  us  of  his  glory,  while 
Joy  flush’d  the  face  of  Jane ; 

And  while  she  bless’d  his  name,  her  smile 
Struck  fire  into  my  brain. 

No  fears  could  damp ; I reach’d  the  camp, 
Sought  out  its  champion ; 

And  if  my  broad-sword  fail’d  at  last, 

’Twas  long  and  well  laid  on. 

This  wound ’s  my  meed,  my  name ’s  Kinghom, 
My  foe ’s  the  Ritter  Bann.’ 

The  wafer  to  his  lips  was  borne. 

And  we  shrived  the  dying  man. 


THE  KITTER  BANN. 


223 


He  died  not  till  you  went  to  fight 
The  Turks  at  Warradein ; 

But  I see  my  tale  has  changed  you  pale/^ — 

The  abbot  went  for  wine ; 

And  brought  a little  page  who  pour’d 
It  out,  and  knelt  and  smiled ; — 

The  stunned  knight  saw  himself  restored 
To  childhood  in  his  child ; 

And  stoop’d  and  caught  him  to  his  breast, 
Laugh’d  loud  and  wept  anon, 

And  with  a shower  of  kisses  press’d 
The  darling  little  one. 

‘‘And  where  went  Jane  ?” — “ To  a nunnery,  Sir- 
Look  not  again  so  pale — 

Kinghorn’s  old  dame  grew  harsh  to  her.” — 

“And  has  she  ta’en  the  veil?” — 

“ Sit  down.  Sir,”  said  the  priest,  “ I bar 
Rash  words.” — They  sat  all  three. 

And  the  boy  play’d  with  the  knight’s  broad  star, 
As  he  kept  him  on  his  knee. 

“ Think  ere  you  ask  her  dwelling-place,” 

The  abbot  further  said ; 

“ Time  draws  a veil  o’er  beauty’s  face 
More  deep  than  cloister’s  shade. 


224 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 


Grief  may  have  made  her  what  you  can 
Scarce  love  perhaps  for  life.” 

“ Hush,  abbot,”  cried  the  Ritter  Bann, 

‘‘  Or  tell  me  where ’s  my  wife.” 

The  priest  undid  two  doors  that  hid 
The  inn’s  adjacent  room. 

And  there  a lovely  woman  stood, 

Tears  bathed  her  beauty’s  bloom. 

One  moment  may  with  bliss  repay 
Unnumber’d  hours  of  pain ; 

Such  was  the  throb  and  mutual  sob 
Of  the  knight  embracing  Jane. 


225 


SONG. 

-MEN  OP  ENGLAND.” 

Men  of  England ! who  inherit 

Rights  that  cost  your  sires  their  blood  1 

Men  whose  undegenerate  spirit 

Has  been  proved  on  field  and  flood : — 

By  the  foes  you  Ve  fought  uncounted, 

By  the  glorious  deeds  ye  Ve  done, 

Trophies  captured — breaches  mounted, 
Navies  conquer’d — kingdoms  won. 

Yet,  remember,  England  gathers 
Hence  but  fruitless  wreaths  of  fame, 

If  the  freedom  of  your  fathers 

Glow  not  in  your  hearts  the  same. 

What  are  monuments  of  bravery. 

Where  no  public  virtues  bloom  ? 

What  avail  in  lands  of  slavery, 

Trophied  temples,  arch,  and  tomb  ? 

Pageants  ! — Let  the  world  revere  us 
For  our  people’s  rights  and  laws, 

And  the  breasts  of  civic  heroes 
Bared  in  Freedom’s  holy  cause. 

15 


226 


SONG. 


Yours  are  Hampden’s,  Russell’s  glory, 
Sidney’s  matchless  shade  is  yours, — 
Martyrs  in  heroic  story. 

Worth  a hundred  Agincourts  ! 

We  ’re  the  sons  of  sires  that  baffled 
Crown’d  and  mitred  tyranny  ; — 
They  defied  the  field  and  scaffold 
For  their  birthrights — so  will  we! 


SONG. 

Drink  ye  to  her  that  each  loves  best, 
And  if  you  nurse  a flame 
That ’s  told  but  to  her  mutual  breast, 

We  will  not  ask  her  name. 

Enough,  while  memory  tranced  and  glad 
Paints  silently  the  fair. 

That  each  should  dream  of  joys  he ’s  had. 
Or  yet  may  hope  to  share. 

Yet  far,  far  hence  be  jest  or  boast 
From  hallow’d  thoughts  so  dear ; 

But  drink  to  her  that  each  loves  most, 

As  she  would  love  to  hear. 


227 


THE  HARPER. 

On  the  green  banks  of  Shannon,  when  Sheelah 
was  nigh, 

No  blithe  Irish  lad  was  so  happy  as  I ; 

No  harp  like  my  own  could  so  cheerily  play. 

And  wherever  I went  was  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

When  at  last  I was  forced  from  my  Sheelah  to 
part. 

She  said,  (while  the  sorrow  was  big  at  her  heart,) 
Oh  ! remember  your  Sheelah  when  far,  far  away  : 
And  be  kind,  my  dear  Pat,  to  our  poor  dog  Tray. 

Poor  dog ! he  was  faithful  and  kind,  to  be  sure, 
And  he  constantly  loved  me,  although  I was  poor ; 
When  the  sour-looking  folks  sent  me  heartless 
away, 

I had  always  a friend  in  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

When  the  road  was  so  dark,  and  the  night  was 
so  cold. 

And  Pat  and  his  dog  were  grown  weary  and  old. 
How  snugly  we  slept  in  my  old  coat  of  gray. 

And  he  lick’d  me  for  kindness — my  poor  dog  Tray. 


228 


THE  WOUNDED  HUSSAR. 


Though  my  wallet  was  scant,  I remember’d  his 
case, 

Nor  refused  my  last  crust  to  his  pitiful  face  ; 

But  he  died  at  my  feet  on  a cold  winter  day, 

And  I play’d  a sad  lament  for  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

Where  now  shall  I go,  poor,  forsaken,  and  blind  ? 
Can  I find  one  to  guide  me,  so  faithful,  and  kind  ? 
To  my  sweet  native  village,  so  far,  far  away, 

I can  never  more  return  with  my  poor  dog  Tray. 


THE  WOUNDED  HUSSAR 

Alone  to  the  banks  of  the  dark-rolling  Danube 
Fa*ir  Adelaide  hied  when  the  battle  was  o’er : — 
‘‘  Oh  whither,”  she  cried,  ‘‘  hast  thou  wander’d, 
my  lover, 

Or  here  dost  thou  welter  and  bleed  on  the  shore  ? 

What  voice  did  I hear  ? ’twas  my  Henry  that 
sigh’d!” 

All  mournful  she  hasten’d,  nor  wander’d  she  far, 
When  bleeding,  and  low,  on  the  heath  she  descried, 
By  the  light  of  the  moon,  her  poor  wounded 
Hussar ! 


THE  WOUNDED  HUSSAR. 


229 


From  his  bosom  that  heaved,  the  last  torrent  was 
streaming, 

And  pale  was  his  visage,  deep  mark’d  with  a 
scar  ! 

And  dim  was  that  eye,  once  expressively  beaming, 

That  melted  in  love,  and  that  kindled  in  war ! 

How  smit  was  poor  Adelaide’s  heart  at  the  sight ! 

How  bitter  she  wept  o’er  the  victim  of  war ! 

“ Hast  thou  come,  my  fond  Love,  this  last  sorrow- 
ful night, 

To  cheer  the  lone  heart  of  your  wounded  Hus- 
sar I” 

‘‘  Thou  shalt  live,”  she  replied,  “ Heaven’s  mercy 
relieving 

Each  anguishing  wound,  shall  forbid  me  to 
mourn ! ” — 

‘‘Ah  no  ! the  last  pang  of  my  bosom  is  heaving ! 

No  light  of  the  morn  shall  to  Henry  return ! 

Thou  charmer  of  life,  ever  tender  and  true ! 

Ye  babes  of  my  love,  that  await  me  afar  ! ” — 

His  faltering  tongue  scarce  could  murmur  adieu. 

When  he  sunk  in  her  arms — the  poor  wounded 
Hussar ! 


230 


LOVE  AND  MADNESS. 

AN  ELEGY.  WRITTEN  IN  1795. 

Hark  ! from  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower  ^ 
The  solemn  bell  has  toll’d  the  midnight  hour ! 
Roused  from  drear  visions  of  distemper’d  sleep, 
Poor  B wakes — in  solitude  to  weep  ! 

“ Cease,  Memory,  cease  (the  friendless  mourner 
cried) 

To  probe  the  bosom  too  severely  tried ! 

Oh ! ever  cease,  my  pensive  thoughts,  to  stray 
Through  the  bright  fields  of  Fortune’s  better  day 
When  youthful  Hope,  the  music  of  the  mind. 
Tuned  all  its  charms,  and  E n was  kind ! 

Yet,  can  I cease,  while  glows  this  trembling 
frame. 

In  sighs  to  speak  thy  melancholy  name  ! 

I hear  thy  spirit  wail  in  every  storm  ! 

In  midnight  shades  I view  thy  passing  form ! 

Pale  as  in  that  sad  hour  when  doom’d  to  feel, 
Deep  in  thy  perjured  heart,  the  bloody  steel ! 


1 Warwick  Castle. 


LOVE  AND  MADNESS. 


231 


Demons  of  Vengeance  ! ye  at  whose  command 
I grasp’d  the  sword  with  more  than  woman’s  hand. 
Say  ye,  did  Pity’s  trembling  voice  controul, 

Or  horror  damp  the  purpose  of  my  soul  ? 

No  ! my  wild  heart  sat  smiling  o’er  the  plan, 

Till  Hate  fulfill’d  what  baffled  love  began  ! 

Yes ; let  the  clay-cold  breast  that  never  knew 
One  tender  pang  to  generous  nature  true. 
Half-mingling  pity  with  the  gall  of  scorn. 
Condemn  this  heart,  that  bled  in  love  forlorn ! 

And  ye,  proud  fair,  whose  soul  no  gladness 
warms. 

Save  Rapture’s  homage  to  your  conscious  charms  ! 
Delighted  idols  of  a gaudy  train, 

111  can  your  blunter  feelings  guess  the  pain. 
When  the  fond,  faithful  heart,  inspired  to  prove 
Friendship  refined,  the  calm  delight  of  Love, 
Feels  all  its  tender  strings  with  anguish  torn. 

And  bleeds  at  perjured  Pride’s  inhuman  scorn. 

Say,  then,  did  pitying  Heaven  condemn  the 
deed. 

When  Vengeance  bade  thee,  faithless  lover! 
bleed? 

Long  had  I watch’d  thy  dark  foreboding  brow, 
What  time  thy  bosom  scorn’d  its  dearest  vow  ! 
Sad,  though  I wept  the  friend,  the  lover  changed, 
Still  thy  cold  look  was  scornful  and  estranged. 


232 


LOVE  AND  MADNESS. 


Till  from  thy  pity,  love,  and  shelter  thrown, 

I wander’d  hopeless,  friendless,  and  alone  ! 

Oh  ! righteous  Heaven  ! ’twas  then  my  tortured 
soul 

First  gave  to  wrath  unlimited  controul ! 

Adieu  the  silent  look  I the  streaming  eye ! 

The  murmur’d  plaint ! the  deep  heart-heaving 
sigh  ! [deeds ; 

Long-slumbering  Vengeance  wakes  to  better 
He  shrieks,  he  falls,  the  perjured  lover  bleeds ! 
Now  the  last  laugh  of  agony  is  o’er. 

And  pale  in  blood  he  sleeps,  to  wake  no  more ! 

’Tis  done  ! the  flame  of  hate  no  longer  bums : 
Nature  relents,  but,  ah ! too  late  returns  ! 

Why  does  my  soul  this  gush  of  fondness  feel  ? 
Trembling  and  faint,  I drop  the  guilty  steel ! 

Cold  on  my  heart  the  hand  of  terror  lies. 

And  shades  of  horror  close  my  languid  eyes ! 

Oh ! ’twas  a deed  of  Murder’s  deepest  grain  ! 

Could  B — k’s  soul  so  true  to  wrath  remain  ? 

A friend  long  true,  a once  fond  lover  fell  ? — 
Where  Love  was  foster’d  could  not  Pity  dwell  ? 

Unhappy  youth ! while  yon  pale  crescent  glows 
To  watch  on  silent  Nature’s  deep  repose. 

Thy  sleepless  spirit,  breathing  from  the  tomb, 
foretells  my  fate,  and  summons  me  to  come  I 


LOVE  AND  MADNESS. 


233 


Once  more  I see  thy  sheeted  spectre  stand, 

Roll  the  dim  eye,  and  wave  the  paly  hand ! 

Soon  may  this  fluttering  spark  of  vital  flame 
Forsake  its  languid  melancholy  frame ! 

Soon  may  these  eyes  their  trembling  lustre  close, 
Welcome  the  dreamless  night  of  long  repose  ! 
Soon  may  this  woe-worn  spirit  seek  the  bourne 
Where,  lull’d  to  slumber.  Grief  forgets  to  mourn 


Properly  a monody  on  Miss  Broderick.  Written  at  the 
age  of  nineteen,  at  Downie,  Argyllshire,  during  the  poet’s 
residence  as  tutor  to  the  son  of  Colonel  Napier,  now  Sir 
William  Napier,  of  Milliken,  who  resided  at  that  time  with 
his  mother  on  his  grandfather’s  estate  at  Downie.  The 
monody  was  transmitted  to  London  to  James  Thompson, 
Esq.,  of  Clitheroe,  Lancashire,  in  a letter  dated  September  15, 
1796,  of  which  the  following  is  an  extract: — believe  I 
hinted  in  my  last  that  I proposed  submitting  a monody,  lately 
finished,  to  your  inspection.  The  subject  is  the  unhappy  fair 
one,  who,  you  may  remember,  was  tried  about  twelve  months 
ago  for  the  murder  of  Errington.  Some  of  my  critical  friends 
have  blamed  me  for  endeavouring  to  recommend  such  a 
woman  to  sympathy;  but  from  the  moment  I heard  Brode- 
rick’s story  I could  not  refrain  from  admiring  her,  even  amid 
the  horror  of  the  rash  deed  she  committed.  Errington  was 
an  inhuman  villain  to  forsake  her,  and  he  deserved  his  fate ; 
not  by  the  laws  of  his  country,  but  of  friendship,  which  he 
had  so  heinously  broken  through.” 


234 


HALLOWED  GROUND. 

What’s  hallow’d  ground  ? Has  earth  a clod 
Its  maker  meant  not  should  be  trod 
By  man,  the  image  of  his  God 
Erect  and  free, 

Unscourged  by  Superstition’s  rod 
To  bow  the  knee  ? 


That’s  hallow’d  ground — where,  mourn’d  and 
miss’d, 

The  lips  repose  our  love  has  kiss’d : — 

But  where’s  their  memory’s  mansion?  Is’t 
Yon  churchyard’s  bowers  ? 

No  ! in  ourselves  their  souls  exist, 

A part  of  ours. 


A kiss  can  consecrate  the  ground 
Where  mated  hearts  are  mutual  bound : 

The  spot  where  love’s  first  links  were  wound, 
That  ne’er  are  riven, 

Is  hallow’d  down  to  earth’s  profound, 

And  up  to  Heaven ! 


HALLOWED  GROUND. 


235 


For  time  makes  all  but  true  love  old ; 

The  burning  thoughts  that  then  were  told 
Run  molten  still  in  memory’s  mould ; 

And  will  not  cool, 

Until  the  heart  itself  be  cold 
In  Lethe’s  pool. 


What  hallows  ground  where  heroes  sleep  ? 
’Tis  not  the  sculptured  piles  you  heap  1 
In  dews  that  heavens  far  distant  weep 
Their  turf  may  bloom ; 

Or  Genii  twine  beneath  the  deep 
Their  coral  tomb : 


But  strew  his  ashes  to  the  wind 
Whose  sword  or  voice  has  served  mankind — 
And  is  he  dead,  whose  glorious  mind 
Lifts  thine  on  high  ? — 

To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind, 

Is  not  to  die. 


Is ’t  death  to  fall  for  Freedom’s  right  ? 
He ’s  dead  alone  that  lacks  her  light ! 
And  murder  sullies  in  Heaven’s  sight 
The  sword  he  draws : — 

What  can  alone  ennoble  fight  ? 

A noble  cause  I 


236 


HALLOWED  GEOUND. 


Give  that ! and  welcome  War  to  brace 
Her  drums  ! and  rend  Heaven’s  reeking  space 
The  colours  planted  face  to  face, 

The  charging  cheer, 

Though  Death’s  pale  horse  lead  on  the  chase. 
Shall  still  be  dear. 


And  place  our  trophies  where  men  kneel 
To  Heaven ! but  Heaven  rebukes  my  zeal. 
The  cause  of  Truth  and  human  weal, 

0 God  above ! 

Transfer  it  from  the  sword’s  appeal 
To  Peace  and  Love. 


Peace,  Love ! the  cherubim,  that  join 
Their  spread  wings  o’er  Devotion’s  shrine, 
Prayers  sound  in  vain,  and  temples  shine. 
Where  they  are  not — 

I'lie  heart  alone  can  make  divine 
Religion’s  spot. 


To  incantations  dost  thou  trust, 

And  pompous  rites  in  domes  august? 
See  mouldering  stones  and  metal’s  rust 
Belie  the  vaunt, 

That  men  can  bless  one  pile  of  dust 
With  chime  or  chaunt. 


HALLOWED  GROUND. 


237 


The  ticking  wood-worm  mocks  thee,  man  ! 
Thy  temples — creeds  themselves  grow  wan  ! 
But  there’s  a dome  of  nobler  span, 

A temple  given 

Thy  faith,  that  bigots  dare  not  ban — 

Its  space  is  Heaven  ! 


Its  roof  star-pictured  Nature’s  ceiling. 
Where  trancing  the  rapt  spirit’s  feeling. 
And  God  himself  to  man  revealing, 

The  harmonious  spheres 
Make  music,  though  unheard  their  pealing 
By  mortal  ears. 


Fair  stars ! are  not  your  beings  pure  ? 
Can  sin,  can  death,  your  worlds  obscure  ? 
Else  why  so  swell  the  thoughts  at  your 
Aspect  above  ? 

Ye  must  be  Heavens  that  make  us  sure 
Of  heavenly  love ! 


And  in  y our  harmony  sublime 
I read  the  doom  of  distant  time  : 

That  man’s  regenerate  soul  from  crime 
Shall  yet  be  drawn. 

And  reason  on  his  mortal  clime 
Immortal  dawn. 


238 


SONG. 


What ’s  hallow’d  ground  ? ’Tis  what  gives  birth 
To  sacred  thoughts  in  souls  of  worth ! — 

Peace ! Independence  ! Truth  ! go  forth 
Earth’s  compass  round  ; 

And  your  high  priesthood  shall  make  earth 
All  hallow'd  ground. 


SONG. 

Withdraw*  not  yet  those  lips  and  fingers, 
Whose  touch  to  mine  is  rapture’s  spell ; 
Life’s  joy  for  us  a moment  lingers, 

And  death  seems  in  the  word — FarewelL 
The  hour  that  bids  us  part  and  go, 

It  sounds  not  yet, — oh ! no,  no,  no ! 

Time,  whilst  I gaze  upon  thy  sweetness, 
Flies  like  a courser  nigh  the  goal ; 
To-morrow  where  shall  be  his  fleetness. 
When  thou  art  parted  from  my  soul  ? 

Our  hearts  shalt  beat,  our  tears  shall  flow. 
But  not  together — ^no,  no,  no  I 


239 


CAROLINE. 

PART  L 

I ^LL  bid  the  hyacinth  to  blow, 

I T1  teach  my  grotto  green  to  be  ; 

And  sing  my  true  love,  all  below 
The  holly  bower  and  myrtle  tree 

There  all  his  wild-wood  sweets  to  bring, 
The  sweet  South  wind  shall  wander  by, 

And  with  the  music  of  his  wing 
Delight  my  rustling  canopy. 

Come  to  my  close  and  clustering  bower. 
Thou  spirit  of  a milder  clime, 

Fresh  with  the  dews  of  fruit  and  flower, 
Of  mountain  heath,  and  moory  thyme. 

With  all  thy  rural  echoes  come, 

Sweet  comrade  of  the  rosy  day, 

Wafting  the  wild  bee’s  gentle  hum. 

Or  cuckoo’s  plaintive  roundelay. 


240 


CAKOLINE. 


Where’er  thy  morning  breath  has  play’d, 
Whatever  isles  of  ocean  fann’d, 

Come  to  my  blossom-woven  shade, 

Thou  wandering  wind  of  fairy-land. 

For  sure  from  some  enchanted  isle, 

Where  Heaven  and  Love  their  sabbath  hold, 
Where  pure  and  happy  spirits  smile. 

Of  beauty’s  fairest,  brightest  mould : 

From  some  green  Eden  of  the  deep, 

Where  Pleasure’s  sigh  alone  is  heaved, 
Where  tears  of  rapture  lovers  weep, 

Endear’d,  undoubting,  undeceived : 

From  some  sweet  paradise  afar. 

Thy  music  wanders,  distant,  lost — 

Where  Nature  lights  her  leading  star, 

And  love  is  never,  never  cross’d. 

Oh  gentle  gale  of  Eden  bowers, 

If  back  thy  rosy  feet  should  roam, 

To  revel  with  the  cloudless  Hours 
In  Nature’s  more  propitious  home. 

Name  to  thy  loved  Elysian  groves, 

That  o’er  enchanted  spirits  twine, 

A fairer  form  than  Cherub  loves. 

And  let  the  name  be  Caroline. 


1796 


CAROLINE. 


PAKr  II. 

TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

Gem  of  the  crimson-colour’d  Even, 
Companion  of  retiring  day, 

Why  at  the  closing  gates  of  Heaven, 
Beloved  star,  dost  thou  delay  ? 

So  fair  thy  pensile  beauty  burns. 

When  soft  the  tear  of  twilight  flows  3 
So  due  thy  plighted  love  returns. 

To  chambers  brighter  than  the  rose : 


To  Peace,  to  Pleasure,  and  to  Love, 

So  kind  a star  thou  seem’st  to  be, 

Sure  some  enamour’d  orb  above 

Descends  and  burns  to  meet  with  thee. 

Tliine  is  the  breathing,  blushing  hour. 
When  all  unheavenly  passions  fly, 
Chased  by  the  soul-subduing  power 
Of  Love’s  delicious  witchery. 

16 


242 


CAROLINE. 


0 ! sacred  to  the  fall  of  day, 

Queen  of  propitious  stars,  appear, 

And  early  rise,  and  long  delay. 

When  Caroline  herself  is  here  I 

Shine  on  her  chosen  green  resort. 

Whose  trees  the  sunward  summit  crown, 
And  wanton  flowers,  that  well  may  court 
An  angel’s  feet  to  tread  them  down. 

Shine  on  her  sweetly-scented  road. 

Thou  star  of  evening’s  purple  dome. 
That  lead’st  the  nightingale  abroad, 

And  guid’st  the  pilgrim  to  his  home. 

Shine  w^here  my  charmer’s  sweeter  breath 
Embalms  the  soft  exhaling  dew. 

Where  dying  winds  a sigh  bequeath 
To  kiss  the  cheek  of  rosy  hue. 

Where,  winnow’d  by  the  gentle  air. 

Her  silken  tresses  darkly  flow. 

And  fall  upon  her  brow  so  fair. 

Like  shadows  on  the  mountain  snow. 

Thus,  ever  thus,  at  day’s  decline. 

In  converse  sweet,  to  wander  far, 

O bring  with  thee  my  Caroline, 

And  thou  shalt  be  my  Kuling  Star! 


1799 


243 


THE  BEECH  TREE’S  PETITION. 

O LEAVE  this  barren  spot  to  me ! 

Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  beechen  tree ! 
Though  bush  or  floweret  never  grow 
My  dark  un warming  shade  below ; 

Nor  summer  bud  perfume  the  dew 
Of  rosy  blush,  or  yellow  hue  ! 

Nor  fruits  of  autumn,  blossom-born, 

My  green  and  glossy  leaves  adorn ; 

Nor  murmuring  tribes  from  me  derive 
Th’  ambrosial  amber  of  the  hive ; 

Yet  leave  this  barren  spot  to  me  : 

Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  beechen  tree  I 

Thrice  twenty  summers  I have  seen 
The  sky  grow  bright,  the  forest  green ; 

And  many  a wintry  wind  have  stood 
In  bloomless,  fruitless  solitude. 

Since  childhood  in  my  pleasant  bower 
First  spent  its  sweet  and  sportive  hour ; 
Since  youthful  lovers  in  my  shade 
Their  vows  of  truth  and  rapture  made  5 
And  on  my  trunk’s  surviving  frame 
Carv’d  many  a long-forgotten  name. 


244 


FIELD  FLOWERS. 


Oh  ! by  the  sighs  of  gentle  sound, 

First  breathed  upon  this  sacred  ground ; 
By  all  that  Love  has  whisper’d  here, 

Or  beauty  heard  with  ravish’d  ear ; 

As  Love’s  own  altar  honour  me  : 

Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  beechen  tree  I 


FIELD  FLOWEKS. 

Ye  field  flowers ! the  gardens  eclipse  you,  ’tis  true, 
Yet  wildings  of  Nature,  I dote  upon  you. 

For  ye  waft  me  to  summers  of  old. 

When  the  earth  teem’d  around  me  with  fairy 
delight. 

And  when  daisies  and  buttercups  gladden’d  my 
sight. 

Like  treasures  of  silver  and  gold. 

I love  you  for  lulling  me  back  into  dreams 
Of  the  blue  Highland  mountains  and  echoing 
streams. 

And  of  birchen  glades  breathing  their  balm, 
While  the  deer  was  seen  glancing  in  sunshine 
remote. 


FIELD  FLOWERS. 


245 


And  the  deep  mellow  crush  of  the  wood-pigeon's 
note 

Made  music  that  sweeten'd  the  calm. 

Not  a pastoral  song  has  a pleasanter  tune 
Than  ye  speak  to  my  heart,  little  wildings  of  June : 

Of  old  ruinous  castles  ye  tell, 

Where  I thought  it  delightful  your  beauties  to  find. 
When  the  magic  of  nature  first  breathed  on  my 
mind. 

And  your  blossoms  were  part  of  her  spell. 

Even  now  what  affections  the  violet  awakes ; 
What  loved  little  islands,  twice  seen  in  their  lakes, 
Can  the  wild  water-lily  restore ; 

What  landscapes  I read  in  the  primrose’s  looks, 
And  what  pictures  of  pebbled  and  minnowy  brooks. 
In  the  vetches  that  tangled  their  shore. 

Earth’s  cultureless  buds,  to  my  heart  ye  were  dear, 
Ere  the  fever  of  passion,  or  ague  of  fear. 

Had  scathed  my  existence’s  bloom ; 

Once  I welcome  you  more,  in  life’s  passionless 
stage. 

With  the  visions  of  youth  to  revisit  my  age, 

And  I wish  you  to  grow  on  ray  tomb. 


246 


SONG. 

TO  THE  EVENING  STAB. 

Star  that  bringest  home  the  bee, 

And  sett’st  the  weary  labourer  free ! 

If  any  star  shed  peace,  ’tis  thou, 

That  send’st  it  from  above. 

Appearing  when  Heaven’s  breath  and  brow 
Are  sweet  as  hers  we  love- 

Come  to  the  luxuriant  skies. 

Whilst  the  landscape’s  odours  rise. 

Whilst  far-off  lowing  herds  are  heard. 

And  songs  when  toil  is  done, 

From  cottages  whose  smoke  unstirr’d 
Curls  yellow  in  the  sun. 

Star  of  love’s  soft  interviews. 

Parted  lovers  on  thee  muse  ; 

Their  remembrancer  in  Heaven 
Of  thrilling  vows  thou  art. 

Too  delicious  to  be  riven 
By  absence  from  the  heart. 


247 


STANZAS  TO  PAINTING. 

0 THOU  by  whose  expressive  art 
Her  perfect  image  Nature  sees 

In  union  with  the  Graces  start, 

And  sweeter  by  reflection  please ! 

In  whose  creative  hand  the  hues 

Fresh  from  yon  orient  rainbow  shine; 

1 bless  thee,  Promethean  muse ! 

And  call  thee  brightest  of  the  Nine  1 

Possessing  more  than  vocal  power, 
Persuasive  more  than  poet’s  tongue ; 
Whose  lineage,  in  a raptured  hour. 

From  Love,  the  Sire  of  Nature,  sprung 

Does  Hope  her  high  possession  meet  ? 

Is  joy  triumphant,  sorrow  flown  ? 

Sweet  is  the  trance,  the  tremor  sweet 
When  all  we  love  is  all  our  own. 

But  oh  ! thou  pulse  of  pleasure  dear. 

Slow  throbbing,  cold,  I feel  thee  part ; 
Lone  absence  plants  a pang  severe. 

Or  death  inflicts  a keener  dart. 


248 


STANZAS  TO  PAINTING. 


Then  for  a beam  of  joy  to  light 
In  memory’s  sad  and  wakeful  eye ! 

Or  banish  from  the  noon  of  night 

Her  dreams  of  deeper  agony.  ^ 

Shall  Song  its  witching  cadence  roll  ? 

Yea,  even  the  tenderest  air  repeat, 

That  breathed  when  soul  was  knit  to  soul, 
And  heart  to  heart  responsive  beat  ? 

What  visions  rise ! to  charm,  to  melt ! 

The  lost,  the  loved,  the  dead  are  near ! 
Oh,  hush  that  strain  too  deeply  felt ! 

And  cease  that  solace  too  severe ! 

But  thou,  serenely  silent  art  I 

By  heaven  and  love  wast  taught  to  lend 
A milder  solace  to  the  heart. 

The  sacred  image  of  a friend. 

All  is  not  lost ! if,  yet  possest. 

To  me  that  sweet  memorial  shine  : — 

If  close  and  closer  to  my  breast 
I hold  that  idol  all  divine. 

Or,  gazing  through  luxurious  tears, 

Melt  o’er  the  loved  departed  form. 

Till  death’s  cold  bosom  half  appears 
With  life,  and  speech,  and  spirit  warm. 


STANZAS  TO  PAINTING. 


249 


She  looks  ! she  lives  ! this  tranced  hour, 
Her  bright  eje  seems  a purer  gem 
Than  sparkles  on  the  throne  of  power, 

Or  glory’s  wealthy  diadem. 

Yes,  Genius,  yes  ! thy  mimic  aid 
A treasure  to  my  soul  has  given, 

VYliere  beauty’s  canonized  shade 
Smiles  in  the  sainted  hues  of  heaven, 

No  spectre  forms  of  pleasure  fled. 

Thy  softening,  sweetening,  tints  restore ; 
For  thou  canst  give  us  back  the  dead. 

E’en  in  the  loveliest  looks  they  wore. 

Then  blest  be  Nature’s  guardian  Muse, 
Whose  hand  her  perish’d  grace  redeems  1 
Whose  tablet  of  a thousand  hues 
The  mirror  of  creation  seems. 

From  Love  began  thy  high  descent ; 

And  lovers,  charm’d  by  gifts  of  thine, 
Shall  bless  thee  mutely  eloquent ; 

And  call  thee  brightest  of  the  Nine  ! 


250 


THE  MAID’S  KEMONSTRANCE. 

Never  wedding,  ever  wooing, 

Still  a love-lorn  heart  pursuing, 

Bead  you  not  the  wrong  you  ’re  doing 
In  my  cheek’s  pale  hue  ? 

All  my  life  with  sorrow  strewing, 
Wed,  or  cease  to  woo. 

Rivals  banish’d,  bosoms  plighted, 

Still  our  days  are  disunited ; 

Now  the  lamp  of  hope  is  lighted. 

Now  half-quench’d  appears. 

Damp’d,  and  wavering,  and  benighted, 
’Midst  my  sighs  and  tears. 

Charms  you  call  your  dearest  blessing. 
Lips  that  thrill  at  your  caressing. 

Eyes  a mutual  soul  confessing. 

Soon  you  ’ll  make  them  grow 
Dim,  and  worthless  your  possessing. 
Not  with  age,  but  woe  ! 


251 


ABSENCE. 

*Tis  not  the  loss  of  love’s  assurance, 

It  is  not  doubting  what  thou  art, 

But  ’tis  the  too,  too  long  endurance 
Of  absence,  that  afflicts  my  heart. 

The  fondest  thoughts  two  hearts  can  cherish, 
When  each  is  lonely  doom’d  to  weep, 

Are  fruity  on  desert  isles  that  perish, 

Or  riches  buried  in  the  deep. 

What  though,  untouch’d  by  jealous  madness, 
Our  bosom’s  peace  may  fall  to  wreck ; 

Th’  undoubting  heart,  that  breaks  with  sadness, 
Is  but  more  slowly  doom’d  to  break. 

Absence  ! is  not  the  soul  torn  by  it 

From  more  than  light,  or  life,  or  breath  ? 

Tis  Lethe’s  gloom,  but  not  its  quiet, 

The  pain  without  the  peace  of  death  ! 


252 


LINES 

INSCRIBED  ON  THE  MONUMENT  LATELY  FINISHED 
BY  MR.  CHANTREY, 

Which  has  been  erected  by  the  Widow  of  Admiral  Sir 
G.  Campbell,  K.  C.  B.  to  the  memory  of  her  Husband. 

To  him,  whose  loyal,  brave,  and  gentle  heart, 
Fulfill’d  the  hero’s  and  the  patriot’s  part, — 
Whose  charity,  like  that  which  Paul  enjoin’d. 
Was  warm,  beneficent,  and  unconfined,— 

This  stone  is  rear’d : to  public  duty  true. 

The  seaman’s  friend,  the  father  of  his  drew — 
Mild  in  reproof,  sagacious  in  command. 

He  spread  fraternal  zeal  throughout  his  band, 
And  led  each  arm  to  act,  each  heart  to  feel. 

What  British  valour  owes  to  Britain’s  weal. 
These  were  his  public  virtues  : — but  to  trace 
His  private  life’s  fair  purity  and  grace, 

To  paint  the  traits  that  drew  affection  strong 
From  friends,  an  ample  and  an  ardent  throng, 
And,  more,  to  speak  his  memory’s  grateful  claim, 
On  her  who  mourns  him  most,  and  bears  his  name — 
O’ei’comes  the  trembling  hand  of  widow’d  grief, 
O’ercomes  the  heart,  unconscious  of  relief. 

Save  in  religion’s  high  and  holy  trust. 

Whilst  placing  their  memorial  o’er  his  dust. 


253 


STANZAS 

ON  THE  BATTLE  OF  NAVARINO. 

Hearts  of  oak  that  have  bravely  deliver’d  the 
brave,  [grave, 

And  uplifted  old  Greece  from  the  brink  of  the 

*Twas  the  helpless  to  help,  and  the  hopeless  to 
save. 

That  your  thunderbolts  swept  o’er  the  brine  ; 

And  as  long  as  yon  sun  shall  look  down  on  the 
wave, 

The  light  of  your  glory  shall  shine. 

For  the  guerdon  ye  sought  with  your  bloodshed 
and  toil. 

Was  it  slaves,  or  dominion,  or  rapine,  or  spoil? 

No  ! your  lofty  emprise  was  to  fetter  and  foil 

The  uprooter  of  Greece’s  domain ! 

When  he  tore  the  last  remnant  of  food  from  her 
soil. 

Till  her  famish’d  sank  pale  as  the  slain ! 

Yet,  Navarin’s  heroes  ! does  Christendom  breed 

The  base  hearts  that  will  question  the  fame  of 
your  deed  ? 


254 


STANZAS. 


Are  they  men  ? — ^let  inefiable  scorn  be  their  meed, 
And  oblivion  shadow  their  graves ! — 

Are  they  women  ? — to  Turkish  serails  let  them 
speed ; 

And  be  mothers  of  Mussulman  slaves. 

Abettors  of  massacre ! dare  ye  deplore 
That  the  death-shriek  is  silenced  on  Hellas’s  shore? 
That  the  mother  aghast  sees  her  offspring  no  more 
By  the  hand  of  Infanticide  grasp’d  ! 

And  that  stretch’d  on  yon  billows  distain’d  by 
their  gore 

Missolonghi’s  assassins  have  gasp’d  ? 

Prouder  scene  never  hallow’d  war’s  pomp  to  the 
mind, 

Than  w^en  Christendom’s  pennons  wooed  social 
the  wind,  [bined. 

And  the  flower  of  her  brave  for  the  combat  com- 
Their  watch-word,  humanity’s  vow : [kind 

Not  a sea-boy  that  fought  in  that  cause,  but  man- 
Owes  a garland  to  honour  his  brow ! 

Nor  grudge,  by  our  side,  that  to  conquer  or  fall 
Came  the  hardy  rude  Russ,  and  the  high-mettled 
Gaul : 

For  whose  was  the  genius,  that  plann’d  at  its  call, 
Where  the  whirlwind  of  battle  should  roll  ? 

All  were  brave  ! but  the  star  of  success  over  all 
Was  the  light  of  our  Codrington’s  soul. 


LINES. 


255 


That  star  of  thy  day-spring,  regenerate  Greek  ! 
Dimm’d  the  Saracen’s  moon,  and  struck  pallid  his 
cheek : 

In  its  fast  flushing  morning  thy  Muses  shall  speak 
When  their  lore  and  their  lutes  they  reclaim : 
And  the  first  of  their  songs  from  Parnassus’s 
peak 

Shall  be  ‘‘  Glory  to  CodringtorCs  name  I ” 

1828. 


LINES 

ON  REVISITING  A SCOTTISH  RIVER. 

And  call  they  this  Improvement! — ^to  have 
changed. 

My  native  Clyde,  thy  once  romantic  shore, 
Where  Nature’s  face  is  banish’d  and  estranged, 
And  heaven  reflected  in  thy  wave  no  more ; 
Whose  banks,  that  sweeten’d  May-day’s  breath 
before. 

Lie  sere  and  leafless  now  in  summer’s  beam. 
With  sooty  exhalations  cover’d  o’er ; 

And  for  the  daisied  green-sward,  down  thy  stream 
Unsightly  brick  lanes  smoke,  and  clanking  engines 
gleam. 


256 


LINES. 


Speak  not  to  me  of  swarms  the  scene  sustains , 
One  heart  free  tasting  Nature’s  breath  and  bloom 
Is  worth  a thousand  slaves  to  Mammon’s  gains.  - 
But  whither  goes  that  wealth,  and  gladdening 
whom  ? 

See,  left  but  life  enough  and  breathing-room 
The  hunger  and  the  hope  of  life  to  feel, 

Yon  pale  Mechanic  bending  o’er  his  loom, 

And  Childhood’s  self  as  at  Ixion’s  wheel. 

From  morn  till  midnight  task’d  to  earn  its  little 
meal. 

Is  this  Improvement  ? — where  the  human  breed 
Degenerate  as  they  swarm  and  overflow. 

Till  Toil  grows  cheaper  than  the  trodden  weed. 
And  man  competes  with  man,  like  foe  with  foe. 
Till  Death,  that  thins  them,  scarce  seems  public 
woe  ? 

Improvement ! — smiles  it  in  the  poor  man’s  eyes. 
Or  blooms  it  on  the  cheek  of  Labour  ? — No — 

To  gorge  a few  with  Trade’s  precarious  prize, 

We  banish  rural  life,  and  breathe  unwholesome 
skies. 

Nor  call  that  evil  slight ; God  has  not  given 
This  passion  to  the  heart  of  man  in  vain. 

For  Earth’s  green  face,  th’  untainted  air  of  Heaven, 
And  all  the  bliss  of  Nature’s  rustic  reign. 

For  not  alone  our  frame  imbibes  a stain 
From  foetid  skies  ; the  spirit’s  healthy  pride 


THE  ‘^NAME  UNKNOWN.’ 


257 


Fades  in  their  gloom — And  therefore  I complain, 
That  thou  no  more  through  pastoral  scenes  shouldst 
glide, 

Mj  Wallace’s  own  stream,  and  once  romantic 
Clyde  I 

1827. 


THE  “NAME  UNENOWN”! 

IN  IMITATION  OF  KLOPSTOCK. 

Prophetic  pencil ! wilt  thou  trace 
A faithful  image  of  the  face. 

Or  wilt  thou  write  the  “ Name  Unknown,” 
Ordain’d  to  bless  my  charmed  soul, 

And  all  my  future  fate  control, 

Unrivaird  and  alone  ? 

Delicious  Idol  of  my  thought ! 

Though  sylph  or  spirit  hath  not  taught 
My  boding  heart  thy  precious  name ; 

Yet  musing  on  my  distant  fate. 

To  charms  unseen  I consecrate 
A visionary  flame. 

[1  These  lines  were  written  in  Germany.] 

17 


258 


THE  ‘‘name  unknown.” 


Thj  rosy  blush,  thy  meaning  eye, 

Thy  virgin  voice  of  melody, 

Are  ever  present  to  my  heart ; 

Thy  murmur’d  vows  shall  yet  be  mine, 
My  thrilling  hand  shall  meet  with  thine; 
And  never,  never  part. 

Then  fly,  my  days,  on  rapid  wing 
Till  Love  the  viewless  treasure  bring 
While  I,  like  conscious  Athens,  own 
A power  in  mystic  silence  seal’d, 

A guardian  angel  iinreveal’d. 

And  bless  the  “ Name  Unknown  1 ” 


259 


FAKEWELL  TO  LOYE. 

I HAD  a heart  that  doted  once  in  passion’s  bound- 
less pain, 

And  though  the  tyrant  I abjured,  I could  not 
break  his  chain ; 

But  now  that  Fancy’s  fire  is  quench’d,  and  ne’er 
can  burn  anew, 

I ’ve  bid  to  Love,  for  all  my  life,  adieu  ! adieu  ! 
adieu! 

I ’ve  known,  if  ever  mortal  knew,  the  spells  of 
Beauty’s  thrall. 

And  if  my  song  has  told  them  not,  my  soul  has 
felt  them  all ; 

But  Passion  robs  my  peace  no  more,  and  Beauty’s 
, witching  sway 

Is  now  to  me  a star  that ’s  fall’n — a dream  that ’s 
pass’d  away. 

Hail  I welcome  tide  of  life,  when  no  tumultuous 
billows  roll. 

How  wondrous  to  myself  appears  this  halcyon 
calm  of  soul  1 


260 


LINES. 


The  wearied  bird  blown  o’er  the  deep  would 
sooner  quit  its  shore, 

Than  I would  cross  the  gulf  again  that  time  has 
brought  me  o’er. 

Why  say  they  Angels  feel  the  flame  ? — Oh,  spirits 
of  the  skies  1 

Can  love  like  ours,  that  dotes  on  dust,  in  heavenly 
bosoms  rise  ? — 

Ah  no ! the  hearts  that  best  have  felt  its  power, 
the  best  can  tell, 

That  peace  on  earth  itsetf  begins,  when  Love  has 
bid  farewell. 

1830. 


LINES 

ON  THE  CAMP  HILL,  NEAR  HASTINGS. 

In  the  deep  blue  of  eve. 

Ere  the  twinkling  of  stars  had  begun, 

Or  the  lark  took  his  leave 
Of  the  skies  and  the  sweet  setting  sun, 

I climb’d  to  yon  heights. 

Where  the  Norman  encamp’d  him  of  old, 
With  his  bowmen  and  knights, 

And  his  banner  all  burnish’d  with  gold. 


LINES. 


261 


At  the  Conqueror’s  side 
There  his  minstrelsy  sat  harp  in  hand, 

In  pavilion  wide ; 

And  they  chaunted  the  deeds  of  Roland. 

Still  the  ramparted  ground 
With  a vision  my  fancy  inspires, 

And  I hear  the  trump  sound, 

As  it  marshal’d  our  Chivalry’s  sires. 

On  each  turf  of  that  mead 
Stood  the  captors  of  England’s  domains, 
That  ennobled  her  breed 
And  high-mettled  the  blood  of  her  veins. 


Over  hauberk  and  helm 
As  the  sun’s  setting  splendour  was  thrown. 
Thence  they  look’d  o’er  a realm — 

And  to-morrow  beheld  it  their  own. 


[ The  preceding  “ Lines  ” were  composed  in  the  year  1831, 
and  their  subject  (to  use  the  poet’s  own  words)  “ is  a spot  of 
ground,  not  far  from  the  Castle  of  Hastings,  on  which  I have 
ascertained,  by  a comparison  of  histories,  the  camp  of  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror  must  have  been  placed  the  evening  before 
he  defeated  Harold.’*] 


262 


LINES  ON  POLAND. 

And  have  I lived  to  see  thee  sword  in  hand 
Uprise  again,  immortal  Polish  Land ! — 

Whose  flag  brings  more  than  chivalry  to  mind, 
And  leaves  the  tri-color  in  shade  behind ; 

A theme  for  uninspired  lips  too  strong ; 

That  swells  my  heart  beyond  the  power  of  song : — 
Majestic  men,  whose  deeds  have  dazzled  faith. 
Ah  ! yet  your  fate’s  suspense  arrests  my  breath : 
Whilst  envying  bosoms,  bared  to  shot  and  steel, 

I feel  the  more  that  fruitlessly  I feel. 

Poles ! with  what  indignation  I endure 
Th’  half-pitying  servile  mouths  that  call  you  poor ; 
Poor ! is  it  England  mocks  you  with  her  grief. 
Who  hates,  but  dares  not  chide,  th’  Imperial 
Thiep 

France  with  her  soul  beneath  a Bourbon’s  thrall, 
And  Germany  that  has  no  soul  at  all, — 

States,  quailing  at  the  giant  overgrown. 

Whom  dauntless  Poland  grapples  with  alone ! 

No,  ye  are  rich  in  fame  e’en  whilst  ye  bleed ; 

We  cannot  aid  you — we  are  poor  indeed ! 


LINES  ON  POLAND. 


263 


In  Fate’s  defiance— in  the  world’s  great  eye, 
Poland  has  won  her  immortality ; 

The  Butcher,  should  he  reach  her  bosom  now, 
Could  not  tear  Glory’s  garland  from  her  brow ; 
Wreathed,  filleted,  the  victim  falls  renown’d. 

And  all  her  ashes  will  be  holy  ground ! 

But  turn,  my  soul,  from  presages  so  dark : 

Great  Poland’s  spirit  is  a deathless  spark 
That ’s  fann’d  by  Heaven  to  mock  the  Tyrant’s 
rage: 

She,  like  the  eagle,  will  renew  her  age. 

And  fresh  historic  plumes  of  Fame  put  on, — 
Another  Athens  after  Marathon, — 

Where  eloquence  shall  fulmine,  arts  refine. 

Bright  as  her  arms  that  now  in  battle  shine. 

Come — should  the  heavenly  shock  my  life  destroy, 
And  shut  its  flood-gates  with  excess  of  joy  ; 

Come  but  the  day  when  Poland’s  fight  is  won — 
And  on  my  grave-stone  shine  the  morrow’s 
sun — 

The  day  that  sees  Warsaw’s  cathedral  glow 
With  endless  ensigns  ravish’d  from  the  foe, — 
Her  woman  lifting  their  fair  hands  with  thanks. 
Her  pious  warriors  kneeling  in  their  ranks. 

The  ’scutcheon’d  walls  of  high  heraldic  boast. 

The  odorous  altars’  elevated  host. 

The  organ  sounding  through  the  aisles’  long 
glooms. 

The  mighty  dead  seen  sculptured  o’er  their  tombs ; 


264 


LINES  ON  POLAND. 


(John,  Europe’s  saviour — Poniatowski’s  fair 
Resemblance — Kosciusko’s  shall  be  there  ;) 

The  taper’d  pomp — the  hallelujah’s  swell, 

Shall  o’er  the  soul’s  devotion  cast  a spell. 

Till  visions  cross  the  rapt  enthusiast’s  glance, 

And  all  the  scene  becomes  a waking  trance. 
Should  Fate  put  far — far  off  that  glorious  scene, 
And  gulfs  of  havoc  interpose  between, 

Imagine  not,  ye  men  of  every  clime. 

Who  act,  or  by  your  sufferance  share,  the  crime — 
Your  brother  Abel’s  blood  shall  vainly  plead 
Against  the  “ deep  damnation  ” of  the  deed. 
Germans,  ye  view  its  horror  and  disgrace 
With  cold  phosphoric  eyes  and  phlegm  of  face. 

Is  Allemagne  profound  in  science,  lore. 

And  minstrel  art  ? — her  shame  is  but  the  more 
To  doze  and  dream  by  governments  oppress’d, 
The  spirit  of  a book-worm  in  each  breast. 

Well  can  ye  mouth  fair  Freedom’s  classic  line. 
And  talk  of  Constitutions  .o’er  your  wine  : 

But  all  your  vows  to  break  the  tyrant’s  yoke 
Expire  in  Bacchanalian  song  and  smoke ; 
Heavens  ! can  no  ray  of  foresight  pierce  the  leads 
And  mystic  metaphysics  of  your  heads. 

To  show  the  self-same  grave  Oppression  delves 
For  Poland’s  rights  is  yawning  for  yourselves  ? 
See,  whilst  the  Pole,  the  vanguard  aid  of  France, 
Has  vaulted  on  his  barb,  and  couch’d  the  lance, 
France  turns  from  her  abandon’d  friends  afresh, 
And  soothes  the  Bear  that  prowls  for  patriot  flesh ; 


1.INES  ON  POLAND. 


265 


Buys,  ignominious  purchase  ! short  repose^ 

With  dying  curses,  and  the  groans  of  those 
That  served,  and  loved,  and  put  in  her  their 
trust. 

Frenchmen ! the  dead  accuse  you  from  the  dust— 
Brows  laurell’d — bosoms  mark’d  with  many  a scar 
For  France — that  wore  her  Legion’s  noblest 
star. 

Cast  dumb  reproaches  from  the  field  of  Death 
On  Gallic  honour  : and  this  broken  faith 
Has  robb’d  you  more  of  F ame — the  life  of  life — 
Than  twenty  battles  lost  in  glorious  strife ! 

And  what  of  England — is  she  steep’d  so  low 
In  poverty,  crest-fall’n,  and  palsied  so, 

That  we  must  sit  much  wroth,  but  timorous  more. 
With  murder  knocking  at  our  neighbour’s 
door ! — 

Not  murder  mask’d  and  cloak’d,  with  hidden  knife, 
Whose  owner  owes  the  gallows  life  for  life ; 

But  Public  Murder  I — that  with  pomp  and  gafeud, 
And  royal  scorn  of  Justice,  walks  abroad 
To  wring  more  tears  and  blood  than  e’er  were 
wrung 

By  all  the  culprits  Justice  ever  hung! 

We  read  the  diadem’d  Assasin’s  vaunt. 

And  wince,  and  wish  we  had  not  hearts  to  pant 
With  useless  indignation — sigh,  and  frown. 

But  have  not  hearts  to  throw  the  gauntlet  down^ 
If  but  a doubt  hung  o’er  the  grounds  of  fray, 

Or  trivial  rapine  stopp’d  the  world’s  highway : 


266 


LINES  ON  POLAND. 


Were  this  some  common  strife  of  States  em- 
broifd 

Britannia  on  the  spoiler  and  the  spoiFd 
Might  calmly  look,  and,  asking  time  to  breathe, 
Still  honourably  wear  her  olive  wreath. 

But  this  is  Darkness  combating  with  Light ; 
Earth’s  adverse  Principles  for  empire  fight ; 
Oppression,  that  has  belted  half  the  globe, 

Far  as  his  knout  could  reach  or  dagger  probe, 
Holds  reeking  o’er  our  brother-freemen  slain 
That  dagger — shakes  it  at  us  in  disdain : 

Talks  big  to  F reedom’s  states  of  Poland’s  thrall. 
And,  trampling  one,  contemns  them  one  and  all. 

My  country ! colours  not  thy  once  proud  brow 
At  this  affront  ? — Hast  thou  not  fleets  enow 
With  Glory’s  streamer,  lofty  as  the  lark. 

Gay  fluttering  o’er  each  thunder-bearing  bark. 

To  warm  the  insulter’s  seas  with  barbarous  blood, 
And  interdict  his  flag  from  Ocean’s  flood  ? 

Ev’n  now  far  off  the  sea-cliff,  where  I sing, 

I see,  my  Country  and  my  Patriot  King  ! 

Your  ensign  glad  the  deep.  Becalm’d  and  slow 
A war-ship  rides  ; while  Heaven’s  prismatic  bow 
Uprisen  behind  her  on  th’  horizon’s  base. 

Shines  flushing  through  the  tackle,  shrouds,  and 
stays. 

And  wraps  her  giant  form  in  one  majestic  blaze. 
My  soul  accepts  the  omen ; Fancy’s  eye 
Has  sometimes  a veracious  augury : 


LINES  ON  POLAND. 


267 


The  Rainbow  types  Heaven’s  promise  to  my  sight; 
The  Ship,  Britannia’s  interposing  Might ! 

But  if  there  should  be  none  to  aid  you,  Poles, 

Ye  ’ll  but  to  prouder  pitch  wind  up  your  souls, 
Above  example,  pity,  praise,  or  blame. 

To  sow  and  reap  a boundless  field  of  Fame. 

Ask  aid  no  more  from  Nations  that  forget 
Your  championship — old  Europe’s  mighty  debt. 
Though  Poland,  Lazarus-like,  has  burst  the  gloom, 
She  rises  not  a beggar  from  the  tomb  : 

In  Fortune’s  frown,  on  Danger’s  giddiest  brink, 
D^pair  and  Poland’s  name  must  never  link, 

All  ills  have  bounds — plague,  whirlwind,  fire,  and 
fiood : 

Ev’n  Power  can  spill  but  bounded  sums  of  blood 
States  caring  not  what  Freedom’s  price  may  be. 
May  late  or  soon,  but  must  at  last  be  free  ; 

For  body-killing  tyrants  cannot  kill 
The  public  soul — the  hereditary  will 
That  downward,  as  from  sire  to  son  it  goes. 

By  shifting  bosoms  more  intensely  glows  : 

Its  heirloom  is  the  heart,  and  slaughter’d  men 
Fight  fiercer  in  their  orphans  o’er  again. 

Poland  recasts — though  rich  in  heroes  old — 

Her  men  in  more  and  more  heroic  mould ; 

Her  eagle  ensign  best  among  mankind 
Becomes,  and  types  her  eagle-strength  of  mind : 
Her  praise  upon  my  faltering  lips  expires ; 
Resume  it,  younger  bards,  and  nobler  lyres  1 


‘268 


LINES  ON  POLAND, 


Campbell’s  hatred  of  tyranny,  and  his  exertions  in  the 
cause  of  the  oppressed,  and  particularly  the  unfortunate 
Poles,  will  not  lightly  pass  away  from  the  memory  of  those 
who  so  largely  benefited  by  his  labours. 

During  his  lifetime  some  of  the  most  eminent  of  the  ancient 
noblesse  of  Poland  expressed  a grateful  sense  of  obligation 
due  to  him.  At  his  funeral  there  were  not  wanting  sincere 
mourners  for  his  loss  (some  of  whom  scattered  “kindred 
dust”  upon  his  coffin).  After  his  decease.  Lord  Dudley 
Stuart,  as  Vice-President  of  the  Polish  Association,  forwarded 
to  Campbell’s  executors  a tribute  of  condolence,  from  which 
the  following  passage  is  extracted : — 

“ Nor  did  Mr.  Campbell  content  himself  with  a mere  abstract 
feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  friendless  and  destitute  Poles. 
No,  his  purse  was  open  to  them  with  a liberality  far  more  in 
accordance  with  his  generous  nature  than  with  the  extent  of 
his  means:  and  early  in  the  year  1832,  in  conjunction  with 
the  Polish  poet  Niemciewitz  and  the  celebrated  Prince  Czar- 
toryski,  he  founded  this  Association  for  the  purpose  of  diffus- 
ing and  keeping  alive  in  the  public  mind  a lively  interest  for 
ill-fated  Poland.  His  pathetic,  eloquent,  and  fervid  address 
to  our  countrymen,  throughout  the  empire,  as  our  first  presi- 
dent, on  behalf  of  that  unfortunate  country,  was  eminently 
effective  and  successful.  By  imparting  a knowledge  of  the 
objects  of  the  parent  society,  he  conciliated  much  powerful 
support  from  men  of  all  parties  in  the  state  ” 


4 THOUGHT  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  NEW 
YEAR. 


The  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 
Our  life’s  succeeding  stages  ; 

A day  to  childhood  seems  a year, 

And  years  like  passing  ages. 

The  gladsome  current  of  our  youth, 

Ere  passion  yet  disorders. 

Steals,  lingering  like  a river  smooth 
Along  its  grassy  borders. 

But,  as  the  care-worn  cheek  grows  wan, 

And  sorrow’s  shafts  fly  thicker, 

Ye  stars,  that  measure  life  to  man. 

Why  seem  your  courses  quicker? 

When  joys  have  lost  their  bloom  and  breath. 
And  life  itself  is  vapid. 

Why,  as  we  reach  the  Falls  of  death. 

Feel  we  its  tide  more  rapid  ? 

It  may  be  strange — yet  who  would  change 
Time’s  course  to  slower  speeding ; 

When  one  by  one  our  friends  have  gone, 
And  left  our  bosoms  bleeding  ? 

O 


270 


SONG. 


Heaven  gives  our  years  of  fading  stretfgth 
Indemnifying  fleetness  ; 

And  those  of  Youth,  a seeming  lengthy 
Proportion’d  to  their  sweetness. 


SONG. 

How  delicious  is  the  winning 
Of  a kiss  at  Love’s  beginning, 

When  two  mutual  hearts  are  sighing 
For  the  knot  there ’s  no  untying  1 

Yet,  remember,  ’midst  your  wooing, 

Love  has  bliss,  but  Love  has  ruing ; 

Other  smiles  may  make  you  fickle, 

Tears  for  other  charms  may  trickle. 

Love  he  comes,  and  Love  he  tarries. 

Just  as  fate  or  fancy  carries ; 

Longest  stays,  when  sorest  chidden  ; 
Laughs  and  flies,  when  press’d  and  bidden. 

Bind  the  sea  to  slumber  stilly, 

Bind  its  odour  to  the  lily. 

Bind  the  aspen  ne’er  to  quiver. 

Then  bind  Love  to  last  for  ever! 


MARGARET  AND  DORA. 


271 


Love ’s  a fire  that  needs  renewal 
Of  fresh  beauty  for  its  fuel ; 

Love’s  wing  moults  when  caged  and  captured, 
Only  free,  he  soars  enraptured. 

Can  you  keep  the  bee  from  ranging, 

Or  the  ringdove’s  neck  from  changing  ? 

No ! nor  fetter’d  Love  from  dying 
In  the  knot  there ’s  no  untying. 


MARGARET  AND  DORA. 

Margaret ’s  beauteous — Grecian  arts 
Ne’er  drew  form  completer. 

Yet  why,  in  my  heart  of  hearts, 

Hold  I Dora ’s  sweeter  ? 

Dora’s  eyes  of  heavenly  blue 
Pass  all  painting’s  reach. 

Ringdoves’  notes  are  discord  to 
The  music  of  her  speech. 

Artists!  Margaret’s  smile  receive. 

And  on  canvas  show  it ; 

But  for  perfect  worship  leave 
Dora  to  her  poet. 


272 


THE  POWER  OF  RUSSIA. 

So  all  this  gallant  blood  has  gush’d  in  vain  ! 
And  Poland,  by  the  Northern  Condor’s  beak 
And  talons  torn,  lies  prostrated  again. 

0 British  patriots,  that  were  wont  to  speak 
Once  loudly  on  this  theme,  now  hush’d  or 
meek ! 

O heartless  men  of  Europe — Goth  and  Gaul, 
Cold,  adder-deaf  to  Poland’s  dying  shriek  ; — 
That  saw  the  world’s  last  land  of  heroes  fall — 
The  brand  of  burning  shame  is  on  you  all — all— 
all! 

But  this  is  not  the  drama’s  closing  act ! 

Its  tragic  curtain  must  uprise  anew. 

Nations,  mute  accessories  to  the  fact ! 

That  Upas-tree  of  power,  whose  fostering  dew 
Was  Polish  blood,  has  yet  to  cast  o’er  you 
The  lengthening  shadow  of  its  head  elate — 

A deadly  shadow,  darkening  Nature’s  hue. 

To  all  that’s  hallow’d,  righteous,  pure  and 
great, 

Wo  I wo  I when  they  are  reach’d  by  Russia’s 
withering  hate. 


TUE  POWER  OP  RUSSIA. 


273 


Russia,  that  on  his  throne  of  adamant, 

Consults  what  nation’s  breast  shall  next  be 
gored : 

lie  on  Polonia’s  Golgotha  will  plant 
His  standard  fresh ; and  horde  succeeding  horde, 
On  patriot  tomb-stones  he  will  whet  the  sword. 
For  more  stupendous  slaughters  of  the  free. 
Then  Europe’s  realms,  when  their  best  blood  is 
pour’d. 

Shall  miss  thee,  Poland  ! as  they  bend  the  knee, 
A.11 — all  in  grief,  but  none  in  glory,  likening  thee. 

Why  smote  ye  not  the  Giant  whilst  he  reel’d  ? 
0 fair  occasion,  gone  for  ever  by  ! 

To  have  lock’d  his  lances  in  their  northern 
field. 

Innocuous  as  the  phantom  chivalry 
That  flames  and  hurtles  from  yon  boreal  sky ! 
Now  wave  thy  pennon,  Russia,  o’er  the  land 
Once  Poland ; build  thy  bristling  castles  high  ; 
Dig  dungeons  deep  ; for  Poland’s  wrested  brand 
Is  now  a weapon  new  to  widen  thy  command — 

An  awful  width  1 Norwegian  woods  shall  build 
His  fleets ; the  Swede  his  vassal,  and  the  Dane  • 
The  glebe  of  fifty  kingdoms  shall  be  till’d 
To  feed  his  dazzling,  desolating  train. 

Camp’d  sumless, ’twixt  the  Black  and  Baltic 
main : 

Brute  hosts,  I own ; but  Sparta  could  not  write, 
18 


274 


THE  JPOWEK  OF  RUSSIA. 


And  Rome,  half-barbarous,  bound  Achaia^s 
chain : 

So  Russia’s  spirit,  ’midst  Sclavonic  night. 

Burns  with  afire  more  dread  than  all  your  polished 
light. 

But  Russia’s  limbs  (so  blinded  statesmen  speak) 
Are  crude,  and  too  colossal  to  cohere. 

0,  lamentable  weakness  ! reckoning  weak 
The  stripling  Titan,  strengthening  year  by 
year. 

What  implement  lacks  he  for  war’s  career. 
That  grows  on  earth,  or  in  its  floods  and  mines, 
(Eighth  sharer  of  the  inhabitable  sphere) 
Whom  Persia  bows  to,  China  ill  confines. 

And  India’s  homage  waits,  when  Albion’s  star 
declines ! 

But  time  will  teach  the  Russ,  ev’n  conquering 
War 

Has  handmaid  arts  : ay,  ay,  the  Russ  will  woo 
All  sciences  that  speed  Bellona’s  car, 

All  murder’s  tactic  arts,  and  win  them  too  ; 

But  never  holier  Muses  shall  imbue 
His  breast,  that ’s  made  of  nature’s  basest 
clay: 

The  sabre,  knout,  and  dungeon’s  vapour  blue 
His  laws  and  ethics : far  from  him  away 
Are  all  the  lovely  Nine,  that  breathe  but  Free- 
dom’s day. 


THE  POWER  OF  RUSSIA. 


275 


Say,  ev’n  his  serfs,  half-humanized,  should  learn 
Their  human  rights, — will  Mars  put  out  his 
flame 

In  Russian  bosoms  ? no,  he  ’ll  bid  them  burn 
A thousand  years  for  nought  but  martial  fame, 
Like  Romans  : — yet  forgive  me,  Roman  name ! 
Rome  could  impart  what  Russia  never  can  ; 
Proud  civic  rights  to  salve  submission’s  shame. 
Our  strife  is  coming  ; but  in  freedom’s  van 
The  Polish  eagle’s  fall  is  big  with  fate  to  man. 


Proud  bird  of  old  ! Mohammed’s  moon  recoil’d 
Before  thy  swoop  : had  we  been  timely  bold. 
That  swoop,  still  free,  had  stunn’d  the  Russ, 
and  foil’d 

Earth’s  new  oppressors,  as  it  foil’d  her  old. 
Now  thy  majestic  eyes  are  shut  and  cold : 

And  colder  still  Polonia’s  children  find 
The  sympathetic  hands,  that  we  outhold. 

But,  Poles,  when  we  are  gone,  the  world  will 
mind. 

Ye  bore  the  brunt  of  fate,  and  bled  for  human- 
kind. 

So  hallow edly  have  ye  fulfill’d  your  part. 

My  pride  repudiates  ev’  n the  sigh  that  blends 
With  Poland’s  name — name  written  on  my 
heart. 

My  heroes,  my  grief-consecrated  friends ! 

Your  sorrow,  in  nobility,  transcends 


276 


THE  POVVEK  OF  RUSSIA. 


Your  conqueror’s  joy : his  cheek  may  blush ; 
but  shame 

Can  tinge  not  yours,  though  exile’s  tear  de- 
scends ; 

Nor  would  ye  change  your  conscience,  cause, 
and  name, 

For  his,  with  all  his  wealth,  and  all  liis  felon  fame. 

Thee,  Niemciewitz,  whose  song  of  stirring  power 

The  Czar  forbids  to  sound  in  Polish  lands ; 

Thee,  Czartoryski,  in  thy  banish’d  bower, 

The  patricide,  who  in  thy  palace  stands. 

May  envy : proudly  may  Polonia’s  bands 

Throw  down  their  swords  at  Europe’s  feet  in 
scorn 

Saying — “Eussia  from  the  metal  of  these 
brands 

Shall  forge  the  fetters  of  your  sons  unborn  ; 

Our  setting  star  is  your  misfortunes’  rising  morn.’ 

1831. 


277 


LINES 

ON  LEAVING  A SCENE  IN  BAVARIA. 

Adieu  the  woods  and  waters’  side, 
Imperial  Danube' s rich  domain  ! 
Adieu  the  grotto,  wild  and  wide, 

The  rocks  abrupt  and  grassy  plain  ! 
For  pallid  Autumn  once  again 
Hath  sweird  each  torrent  of  the  hill ; 

Her  clouds  collect,  her  shadows  sail. 
And  watery  winds  that  sweep  the  vale 
Grow  loud  and  louder  still. 

But  not  the  storm,  dethroning  fast 
Yon  monarch  oak  of  massy  pile ; 

Nor  river  roaring  to  the  blast 
Around  its  dark  and  desert  isle ; 

Nor  church-bell  tolling  to  beguile 
The  cloud-born  thunder  passing  by, 

Can  sound  in  discord  to  my  soul : 

Boll  on,  ye  mighty  waters,  roll ! 

And  rage,  thou  darken’d  sky ! 


278 


LINES. 


Tliy  blossoms  now  no  longer  bright ; 

Thy  wither’d  woods  no  longer  green ; 

Yet,  Eldurn  shore,  with  dark  delight 
I visit  thy  unlovely  scene ! 

For  many  a sunset  hour  serene 
My  steps  have  trod  thy  mellow  dew ; 

When  his  green  light  the  glowworm  gave, 
When  Cynthia  from  the  distant  wave 
Her  twilight  anchor  drew, 

And  plough’d,  as  with  a swelling  sail, 

The  billowy  clouds  and  starry  sea; 

Then  while  thy  hermit  nightingale 
Sang  on  his  fragrant  apple-tree, — 
Romantic,  solitary,  free. 

The  visitant  of  Eldurn’s  shore. 

On  such  a moonlight  mountain  stray’d, 

As  echoed  to  the  music  made 
By  Druid  harps  of  yore. 

Around  thy  savage  hills  of  oak, 

Around  thy  waters  bright  and  blue, 

No  hunter’s  horn  the  silence  broke. 

No  dying  shriek  thine  echo  knew ; 

But  safe,  sweet  Eldurn  woods,  to  you 
The  wounded  wild  deer  ever  ran. 

Whose  myrtle  bound  their  grassy  cave, 
Whose  very  rocks  a shelter  gave 
From  blood-pursuing  man. 


LINES. 


279 


Oh  heart  effusions,  that  arose 

From  nightly  wanderings  cherish’d  here; 
To  him  who  flies  from  many  woes, 

Even  homeless  deserts  can  be  deal* ! 

The  last  and  solitary  cheer 
Of  those  that  own  no  earthly  home, 

Say — is  it  not,  ye  banish’d  race. 

In  such  a loved  and  lonely  place 
Companionless  to  roam  ? 

Yes ! I have  loved  thy  wild  abode, 

Unknown,  unplough’d,  untrodden  shore; 
Where  scarce  the  woodman  finds  a road, 
And  scarce  the  fisher  plies  an  oar ; 

For  man’s  neglect  I love  thee  more ; 

That  art  nor  avarice  intrude 

To  tame  thy  torrent’s  thunder-shock. 

Or  prune  thy  vintage  of  the  rock 
Magnificently  rude. 

Unheeded  spreads  thy  blossom’d  bud 
Its  milky  bosom  to  the  bee ; 

Unheeded  falls  along  the  flood 
Thy  desolate  and  aged  tree. 

Forsaken  scene,  how  like  to  thee  . 

The  fate  of  unbefriended  Worth ! 

Like  thine  her  fruit  dishonour’d  falls ; 
Like  thee  in  solitude  she  calls 
A thousand  treasures  forth. 


280 


LINES. 


Oh ! silent  spirit  of  the  place, 

If,  lingering  with  the  ruin’d  year, 

Thy  hoary  form  and  awful  face 

I yet  might  watch  and  worship  here  1 
Thy  storm  were  music  to  mine  ear, 

Thy  wildest  walk  a shelter  given 
Sublimer  thoughts  on  earth  to  find. 

And  share,  with  no  unhallow’d  mind. 

The  majesty  of  heaven. 

What  though  the  bosom  friends  of  Fate, — 
Prosperity’s  un weaned  brood, — 

Thy  consolations  cannot  rate, 

0 self-dependent  solitude ! 

Yet  with  a spirit  unsubdued. 

Though  darken’d  by  the  clouds  of  Care, 

To  worship  thy  congenial  gloom, 

A pilgrim  to  the  Prophet’s  tomb 
The  Friendless  shall  repair. 

On  him  the  world  hath  never  smiled 
Or  look’d  but  with  accusing  eye ; — 

All- silent  goddess  of  the  wild, 

To  thee  that  misanthrope  shall  fly  I 

1 hear  his  deep  soliloquy, 

I mark  his  proud  but  ravaged  form. 

As  stern  he  wraps  his  mantle  round. 

And  bids,  on  winter’s  bleakest  ground, 
Defiance  to  the  storm. 


LINES. 


281 


Peace  to  his  banish’d  heart,  at  last, 

In  thy  dominions  shall  descend, 

And,  strong  as  beechwood  in  the  blast, 

His  spirit  shall  refuse  to  bend ; 

Enduring  life  without  a friend. 

The  wmrld  and  falsehood  left  behind. 

Thy  votary  shall  bear  elate, 
(Triumphant  o’er  opposing  Fate,) 

His  dark  inspired  mind. 

But  dost  thou.  Folly,  mock  the  Muse 
A wanderer’s  mountain  walk  to  sing. 
Who  shuns  a warring  world,  nor  woos 
The  vulture  cover  of  its  wing  ? 

Then  fly,  thou  cov»^ering,  shivering  thing. 
Back  to  the  fostering  world  beguiled. 

To  waste  in  self-consuming  strife 
The  loveless  brotherhood  of  life, 
Reviling  and  reviled ! 


Away,  thou  lover  of  the  race 

That  hither  chased  yon  weeping  deer ! 
If  Nature’s  all  majestic  face 

More  pitiless  than  man’s  appear; 

Or  if  the  wild  winds  seem  more  drear 
Than  man’s  cold  charities  below, 

Behold  around  his  peopled  plains. 
Where’er  the  social  savage  reigns, 
Exuberance  of  woe ! 


282 


LINES. 


His  art  and  honours  wouldst  thou  seek 
Emboss’d  on  grandeur’s  giant  walls  ? 

Or  hear  his  moral  thunders  speak 
Where  senates  light  their  airy  halls, 
Where  man  his  brother  man  enthralls ; 

Or  sends  his  whirlwind  warrant  forth 
To  rouse  the  slumbering  fiends  of  war, 

To  dye  the  blood-warm  waves  afar, 

And  desolate  the  earth  ? 

From  clime  to  clime  pursue  the  scene, 

And  mark  in  all  thy  spacious  way, 
Where’er  the  tyrant  man  has  been. 

There  Peace,  the  cherub,  cannot  stay ; 

In  wilds  and  woodlands  far  away 
She  builds  her  solitary  bower. 

Where  only  anchorites  have  trod. 

Or  friendless  men,  to  worship  God, 

Have  wander’d  for  an  hour. 

In  such  a far  forsaken  vale, — 

And  such,  sweet  Eldurn  vale,  is  thine, — 
Afilicted  nature  shall  inhale 

Heaven-borrow’d  thoughts  and  joys  divine 
No  longer  wish,  no  more  repine 
For  man’s  neglect  or  woman’s  scorn ; — 

Then  wed  thee  to  an  exile’s  lot. 

For  if  the  world  hath  loved  thee  not, 

Its  absence  may  be  borne. 


283 


THE  DEATH-BOAT  OF  HELIGOLAND. 

Can  restlessness  reach  the  cold  sepulchred 
head  ? — 

Ay,  the  quick  have  their  sleep-walkers,  so  have 
the  dead. 

There  are  brains,  though  they  moulder,  that  dream 
in  the  tomb. 

And  that  maddening  forebear  the  last  trumpet  of 
doom. 

Till  their  corses  start  sheeted  to  revel  on  earth. 

Making  horror  more  deep  by  the  semblance  of 
mirth : 

By  the  glare  of  new-lighted  volcanoes  they  dance, 

Or  at  mid-sea  appall  the  chilf  d mariner’s  glance. 

Such,  I wot,  was  the  band  of  cadaverous  smile 

Seen  ploughing  the  night-surge  of  Heligo’s  isle. 

The  foam  of  the  Baltic  had  sparkled  like  fire, 

And  the  red  moon  look’d  down  with  an  aspect  of 
ire ; 

But  her  beams  on  a sudden  grew  sick-like  and 
gray. 

And  the  mews  that  had  slept  clang’d  and  shriek’d 
far  away — 


284  THE  DEATH-BOAT  OF  HELIGOLAND. 

And  the  buoys  and  the  beacons  extinguish’d  their 
light, 

As  the  boat  of  the  stony-eyed  dead  came  in  sight, 

Hi"h  bounding  from  billow  to  billow ; each  form 

Had  its  shroud  like  a plaid  flying  loose  to  the 
storm ; 

With  an  oar  in  each  pulseless  and  icy-cold  hand, 

Fast  they  plough’d  by  the  lee-shore  of  Heligoland, 

Such  breakers  as  boat  of  the  living  ne’  er  cross’d ; 

Now  surf-sunk  for  minutes  again  they  uptoss’d ; 

And  with  livid  lips  shouted  reply  o’er  the  flood 

To  the  challenging  watchman  that  curdled  his 
blood — 

‘We  are  dead — we  are  bound  from  our  graves 
in  the  west. 

First  to  Hecla,  and  then  to ’ Unmeet  was 

the  rest 

For  man’s  ear.  The  old  abbey  bell  thunder’d  its 
clang, 

And  their  eyes  gleam’d  with  phosphorus  light  as 
it  rang : 

Ere  they  vanish’d,  they  stopp’d,  and  gazed  silently 
grim. 

Till  the  eye  could  define  them,  garb,  feature,  and 
limb. 

Now  who  were  those  reamers?  of  gallows  or 
wheel 

Bore  they  marks,  or-  the  mangling  anatomist’s 
steel  ? 


THE  DEATH-BOAT  OF  HELIGOLAND.  285 


No,  by  magistrates’  chains  ’mid  their  grave-clothes 
you  saw 

They  were  felons  too  proud  to  have  perish’d  by 
law : 

But  a ribbon  that  hung  where  a rope  should  have 
been, 

'Twas  the  badge  of  their  faction,  its  hue  was  not 
green, 

Show’d  them  men  who  had  trampled  and  tortured 
and  driven 

To  rebellion  the  fairest  Isle  breathed  on  by 
Heaven, — 

Men  whose  heirs  would  yet  finish  the  tyrannous 
task. 

If  the  Truth  and  the  Time  had  not  dragg’d  off 
their  mask. 

They  parted — but  not  till  the  sight  might  discern 

A scutcheon  distinct  at  their  pinnace’s  stern. 

Where  letters  emblazon’d  in  blood-colour’d  fiame, 

Named  their  faction — I blot  not  my  page  with  its 
name. 


1828. 


286 


SONG. 

When  Love  came  first  to  earth,  the  Sprino 
Spread  rose-beds  to  receive  him, 

And  back  he  vow’d  his  flight  he ’d  wing 
To  Heaven,  if  she  should  leave  him. 

But  Spring  departing,  saw  his  faith 
Pledged  to  the  next  new  comer — 

He  reveird  in  the  warmer  breath 
And  richer  bowers  of  Summer. 

Then  sportive  Autumn  claim’d  by  rights 
An  Archer  for  her  lover. 

And  even  in  Winter’s  dark  cold  nights 
A charm  he  could  discover. 

Her  routs  and  balls,  and  fireside  joy, 

For  this  time  were  his  reasons — 

In  short,  Young  Love ’s  a gallant  boy. 

That  likes  all  times  and  seasons. 


1829. 


287 


SONG. 

Ear].  March  look’d  on  his  dying  child, 
And  smit  with  grief  to  view  her — 

The  youth,  he  cried,  whom  I exiled, 

Shall  be  restored  to  woo  her. 

She ’s  at  the  window  many  an  hour 
His  coming  to  discover : 

And  he  look’d  up  to  Ellen’s  bower, 

And  she  look’d  on  her  lover — 

But  ah ! so  pale,  he  knew  her  not. 

Though  her  smile  on  him  was  dwelling. 

And  am  I then  forgot — forgot  ? — 

It  broke  the  heart  of  Ellen. 

In  vain  he  weeps,  in  vain  he  sighs, 

Her  cheek  is  cold  as  ashes ; 

Nor  love’s  own  kiss  shall  wake  those  eyes 
To  lift  their  silken  lashes. 


2S8 


SONG. 

When  Napoleon  was  flying 
From  the  field  of  Waterloo, 

A British  soldier  dying 

To  his  brother  bade  adieu  ! 

And  take,”  he  said,  “ this  token 
To  the  maid  that  owns  my  faith, 

With  the  words  that  I have  spoken 
In  affection’s  latest  breath.” 

Sore  mourn’d  the  brother’s  heart, 

When  the  youth  beside  him  fell ; 

But  the  trumpet  warn’d  to  part, 

And  they  took  a sad  farewell. 

There  was  many  a friend  to  lose  him. 
For  that  gallant  soldier  sigh’d  ; 

But  the  maiden  of  his  bosom 

Wept  when  all  their  tears  were  dried. 


289 


LINES  TO  JULIA  M 

SENT  Wixn  A COPY  OF  THE  AUTHOR’S  POEMS. 

Since  there  is  magic  in  your  look 
And  in  your  voice  a witching  charm, 

As  all  our  hearts  consenting  tell, 
Enchantress,  smile  upon  my  book, 

And  guard  its  lays  from  hate  and  harm 
By  beauty’s  most  resistless  spell. 

The  sunny  dew-drop  of  thy  praise, 

Young  day-star  of  the  rising  time. 

Shall  with  its  odoriferous  morn 
Eefresh  my  sere  and  wither’d  bays. 

Smile,  and  I will  believe  my  rhyme 
Shall  please  the  beautiful  unborn. 

Go  forth,  my  pictured  thoughts,  and  rise 
In  traits  and  tints  of  sweeter  tone, 

When  Julia’s  glance  is  o’er  ye  flung ; 

Glow,  gladden,  linger  in  her  eyes. 

And  catch  a magic  not  your  own. 

Read  by  the  music  of  her  tongue. 

19 


290 


DRINKING  SONG  OF  MUNICH. 

Sweet  Iser  ! were  thy  sunny  realm 
And  flowery  gardens  mine, 

Thy  waters  I would  shade  with  elm 
To  prop  the  tender  vine  ; 

My  golden  flagons  I would  fill 
With  rosy  draughts  from  every  hill  ; 

And  under  every  myrtle  bower, 

My  gay  companions  should  prolong 
The  laugh,  the  revel,  and  the  song. 

To  many  an  idle  hour. 

Like  rivers  crimson’d  with  the  beam 
Of  yonder  planet  bright. 

Our  balmy  cups  should  ever  stream 
Profusion  of  delight ; 

No  care  should  touch  the  mellow  heart, 
And  sad  or  sober  none  depart ; 

For  wine  can  triumph  over  woe. 

And  Love  and  Bacchus,  brother  powers, 
Could  build  in  Iser’s  sunny  bowers 
A paradise  below. 


291 


LINES 

ON  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  EMIGRANTS  FOR  NEW 
SOUTH  WALES. 

On  England’s  shore  I saw  a pensive  band, 

With  sails  unfurl’d  for  earth’s  remotest  strand, 
Like  children  parting  from  a mother,  shed 
Tears  for  the  home  that  could  not  yield  them 
bread ; 

Grief  mark’d  each  face  receding  from  the  view, 
’Twas  grief  to  nature  honourably  true. 

And  long,  poor  wanderers  o’er  the  ecliptic  deep, 
The  song  that  names  but  home  shall  make  you 
weep  : 

Oft  shall  ye  fold  your  flocks  by  stars  above 
In  that  far  world,  and  miss  the  stars  ye  love ; 

Oft  when  its  tuneless  birds  scream  round  forlorn, 
Regret  the  lark  that  gladdens  England’s  morn, 
And,  giving  England’s  names  to  distant  scenes, 
Lament  that  earth’s  extension  intervenes. 

But  cloud  not  yet  too  long,  industrious  train. 
Your  solid  good  with  sorrow  nursed  in  vain ; 

For  has  the  heart  no  interest  yet  as  bland 
As  that  which  binds  us  to  our  native  land  ^ 


292 


LINES. 


The  deep-drawn  wish,  when  children  crown  our 
hearth, 

To  hear  the  cherub-chorus  of  their  mirth. 
Undamp’d  by  dread  that  want  may  e’er  unhouse, 
Or  servile  misery  knit  those  smiling  brows  : 

The  pride  to  rear  an  independent  shed. 

And  give  the  lips  we  love  unborrow’d  bread: 

To  see  a world,  from  shadowy  forests  won, 

In  youthful  beauty  wedded  to  the  sun  ; 

To  skirt  our  home  with  harvests  widely  sown. 
And  call  the  blooming  landscape  all  our  own, 

Our  children’s  heritage,  in  prospect  long. 

These  are  the  hopes,  high-minded  hopes  and 
strong. 

That  beckon  England’s  wanderers  o’er  the  brine, 
To  realms  where  foreign  constellations  shine ; 
Where  streams  from  undiscover’d  fountains  roll, 
And  winds  shall  fan  them  from  th’  Antarctic 
pole. 

And  what  though  doom’d  to  shores  so  far  apart 
From  England’s  home,  that  ev’n  the  homesick 
heart 

Quails,  thinking,  ere  that  gulf  can  be  recross’d. 
How  large  a space  of  fleeting  life  is  lost : 

Yet  there,  by  time,  their  bosoms  shall  be  changed, 
And  strangers  once  shall  cease  to  sigh  estranged, 
But  jocund  in  the  year’s  long  sunshine  roam, 

That  yields  their  sickle  twice  its  harvest-home. 

There,  marking  o’er  his  farm’s  expanding  ring 
New  fleeces  whiten  and  new  fruits  upspring, 


LINEb. 


293 


The  gray-hair’d  swain,  his  grandchild  sporting 
round, 

Shall  walk  at  eve  his  little  empire’s  bound. 
Emblazed  with  ruby  vintage,  ripening  corn. 

And  verdant  rampart  of  acacian  thorn. 

While,  mingling  with  the  scent  his  pipe  exhales, 
The  orange  grove’s  and  fig-tree’s  breath  pre« 
vails ; 

Survey  with  pride  beyond  a monarch’s  spoil. 

His  honest  arm’s  own  subjugated  soil ; 

And,  summing  all  the  blessings  God  has  given, 
Put  up  his  patriarchal  prayer  to  Heaven, 

That,  when  his  bones  shall  here  repose  in  peace, 
The  scions  of  his  love  may  still  increase. 

And  o’er  a land  where  life  has  ample  room, 

In  health  and  plenty  innocently  bloom. 

Delightful  land,  in  wildness  ev’n  benign, 

The  glorious  past  is  ours,  the  future  thine  ! 

As  in  a cradled  Hercules,  we  trace 
The  lines  of  empire  in  thine  infant  face. 

What  nations  in  thy  wide  horizon’s  span 
Shall  teem  on  tracts  untrodden  yet  by  man  ! 
What  spacious  cities  with  their  spires  shall  gif  am, 
Where  now  the  panther  laps  a lonely  stream. 
And  all  but  brute  or  reptile  life  is  dumb ! 

Land  of  the  free ! thy  kingdom  is  to  come. 

Of  states,  with  laws  from  Gothic  bondage  burst, 
And  creeds  by  charter’d  priesthoods  unaccurst: 
Of  navies,  hoisting  their  emblazon’d  fiags. 

Where  shipless  seas  now  wash  unbeacon’d  crags 


294 


LINES. 


Of  hosts  review’d  in  dazzling  files  and  squares, 
Their  pennon’d  trumpets  breathing  native  airs, — 
For  minstrels  thou  shalt  have  of  native  fire. 

And  maids  to  sing  the  songs  themselves  inspire : — 
Our  very  speech,  methinks,  in  after-time, 

Shall  catch  th’  Ionian  blandness  of  thy  clime ; 
And  whilst  the  light  and  luxury  of  thy  skies 
Give  brighter  smiles  to  beauteous  woman’s  eyes, 
The  Arts,  whose  soul  is  love,  shall  all  spontaneous 
rise. 

Un track’d  in  deserts  lies  the  marble  mine, 
Undug  the  ore  that  ’midst  thy  roofs  shall  shine ; 
Unborn  the  hands — but  born  they  are  to  be — 
Fair  Australasia,  that  shall  give  to  thee 
Proud  temple-domes,  with  galleries  winding 
high. 

So  vast  in  space,  so  just  in  symmetry. 

They  widen  to  the  contemplating  eye. 

With  colonnaded  aisles  in  long  array. 

And  windows  that  enrich  the  flood  of  day 
O’er  tessellated  pavements,  pictures  fair. 

And  niched  statues  breathing  golden  air. 

Nor  there,  whilst  all  that’s  seen  bids  Fancy 
swell. 

Shall  Music’s  voice  refuse  to  seal  the  spell ; 

But  choral  hymns  shall  wake  enchantment  round, 
And  organs  yield  their  tempests  of  sweet  sound. 
Meanwhile,  ere  Arts  triumphant  reach  their 
goal, 

How  blest  the  years  of  pastoral  life  shall  roll ! 


LINES. 


295 


Ev’ii  should  some  wayward  hour  the  settler’s 
mind 

Brood  sad  on  scenes  for  ever  left  behind, 

Yet  not  a pang  that  England’s  name  imparts 
Shall  touch  a fibre  of  his  children’s  hearts ; 
Bound  to  that  native  land  by  nature’s  bond, 

Full  little  shall  their  wishes  rove  beyond 
Its  mountains  blue,  and  melon-skirted  streams. 
Since  childhood  loved  and  dreamt  of  in  their 
dreams. 

How  many  a name,  to  us  uncouthly  wild, 

Shall  thrill  that  region’s  patriotic  child, 

And  bring  as  sweet  thoughts  o’er  his  bosom’s 
chords 

As  aught  that ’s  named  in  song  to  us  affords  ! 
Dear  shall  that  river’s  margin  be  to  him. 

Where  sportive  first  he  bathed  his  boyish  limb. 
Or  petted  birds,  still  brighter  than  their  bowers. 
Or  twined  his  tame  young  kangaroo  with  flowers. 
But  more  magnetic  yet  to  memory 
Shall  be  the  sacred  spot,  still  blooming  nigh. 

The  bower  of  love,  where  first  his  bosom  burn’d, 
And  smiling  passion  saw  its  smile  return’d. 

Go  forth  and  prosper  then,  emprising  band  : 

May  He,  who  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand 

The  ocean  holds,  and  rules  the  whirlwind’s  sweep, 

Assuage  its  wrath,  and  guide  you  on  the  deep  1 


1828 


296 


LINES 

ON  REVISITING  CATHCART. 

Oil ! scenes  of  my  childhood,  and  dear  to  my  hearty 
Ye  green  waving  woods  on  the  margin  of  Cart, 
How  blest  in  the  morning  of  life  I have  stray’d, 
By  the  stream  of  the  vale  and  the  grass-cover’d 
glade ! 

Then,  then  every  rapture  was  young  and  sincere, 
Ere  the  sunshine  of  bliss  was  bedimm’d  by  a tear, 
And  a sweeter  delight  every  scene  seem’d  to  lend, 
That  the  mansion  of  peace  was  the  home  of  a 

FRIEND. 

Now  the  scenes  of  my  childhood  and  dear  to  my 
heart, 

All  pensive  I visit,  and  sigh  to  depart ; 

Their  flowers  seem  to  languish,  their  beauty  to 
cease, 

For  a stranger  inhabits  the  mansion  of  peace. 

But  hush’d  be  the  sigh  that  untimely  complains, 
While  Friendship  and  all  its  enchantment  remains, 
While  it  blooms  like  the  flower  of  a winterlesa 
clime, 

Untainted  by  chance,  unabated  by  time. 


297 


THE  CHERUBS. 

SUGGESTED  BY  AN  APOLOGUE  IN  THE  WORKS  OF 
FRANKLIN. 

Two  spirits  reach’d  this  world  of  ours  : 

The  lightning’s  locomotive  powers 
Were  slow  to  their  agility  : 

In  broad  day-light  they  moved  incog.. 

Enjoying  without  mist  or  fog, 

Entire  invisibility. 

The  one,  a simple  cherub  lad, 

Much  interest  in  our  planet  had. 

Its  face  was  so  romantic ; 

He  couldn’t  persuade  himself  that  man 
Was  such  as  heavenly  rumours  ran, 

A being  base  and  frantic. 

The  elder  spirit,  wise  and  cool. 

Brought  down  the  youth  as  to  a school ; 

But  strictly  on  condition. 

Whatever  they  should  see  or  hear. 

With  mortals  not  to  interfere ; 

’Twas  not  in  their  commission. 

They  reach’d  a sovereign  city  proud, 

Whose  emperor  pray’d  to  God  aloud, 


298 


THE  CHERUBS. 


With  all  his  people  kneeling, 

And  priests  perform’d  religious  rites  : 

‘‘  Come,”  said  the  younger  of  the  spritesj 
This  shows  a pious  feeling.” 

YOUNG  SPIRIT. 

“Ar’n’t  these  a decent  godly  race  ? ” 

OLD  SPIRIT. 

‘‘  The  dirtiest  thieves  on  Nature’s  face.” 
YOUNG  SPIRIT. 

‘‘  But  hark,  what  cheers  they  ’re  giving 
Their  emperor ! — And  is  he  a thief?  ” 

OLD  SPIRIT. 

‘^Ay,  and  a cut-throat  too  ; — in  brief, 

The  GREATEST  SCOUNDREL  LIVING.” 

YOUNG  SPIRIT. 

But  say,  what  were  they  praying  for, 
This  people  and  their  emperor  ? ” 

OLD  SPIRIT. 

Why,  for  God’s  assistance 
To  help  their  army,  late  sent  out : 

And  what  that  army  is  about. 

You  ’ll  see  at  no  great  distance.” 

On  wings  outspeeding  mail  or  post, 

Our  sprites  o’ertook  the  imperial  host, 


THE  CHERUBS. 


299 


In  massacres  it  wallow’d : 

A noble  nation  met  its  hordes, 

But  broken  fell  their  cause  and  swords, 
Unfortunate,  though  hallow’d. 

They  saw  a late  bombarded  town. 

Its  streets  still  warm  with  blood  ran  down ; 

Still  smoked  each  burning  rafter ; 

And  hideously,  ’midst  rape  and  sack. 

The  murderer’s  laughter  answer’d  back 
His  prey’s  convulsive  laughter. 

They  saw  the  captive  eye  the  dead. 

With  envy  of  his  gory  bed, — 

Death’s  quick  reward  of  bravery : 

They  heard  the  clank  of  chains,  and  then 
Saw  thirty  thousand  bleeding  men 
Dragg’d  manacled  to  slavery. 

“ Fie  ! fie  ! ” the  younger  heavenly  spark 
Exclaim’d : — “ we  must  have  miss’d  our  mark, 
And  enter’d  hell’s  own  portals : 

Earth  can’t  be  stain’d  with  crimes  so  black ; 
Nay,  sure,  we ’ve  got  among  a pack 
Of  fiends,  and  not  of  mortals  ? ” 

“ No,”  said  the  elder  ; “ no  such  thing : 

Fiends  are  not  fools  enough  to  wring 
The  necks  of  one  another : — 

They  know  their  interests  too  well : 


300 


TUE  CHERUBS. 


Men  fight ; but  every  devil  in  hell 
Lives  friendly  with  his  brother. 

And  I could  point  you  out  some  fellows, 

On  this  ill-fated  planet  Tellus, 

In  royal  power  that  revel ; 

Who,  at  the  opening  of  the  book 

Of  judgment,  may  have  cause  to  look 
With  envy  at  the  devil.” 

Name  but  the  devil,  and  he’ll  appear. 

Old  Satan  in  a trice  was  near. 

With  smutty  face  and  figure : 

But  spotless  spirits  of  the  skies 

Unseeii  to  e’en  his  saucer  eyes, 

Could  watch  the  fiendish  nigger. 

“ Halloo  ! ” he  cried,  I smell  a trick : 

A mortal  supersedes  Old  Nick, 

The  scourge  of  earth  appointed  : 

He  robs  me  of  my  trade,  outran ts 

The  blasphemy  of  hell,  and  vaunts 
Himself  the  Lord’s  anointed ! 

Folks  make  a fuss  about  my  mischief : 

D d fools  ; they  tamely  suffer  this  chief 

To  play  his  pranks  unbounded.” 

The  cherubs  flew ; but  saw  from  high, 

At  human  inhumanity. 

The  devil  himself  astounded. 


1832. 


301 


BENEX’S  SOLILOQUY  OX  HIS  YOUTHFUL 
IDOIr 


Platonic  friendship  at  your  years, 
Says  Conscience,  should  content  ye : 

Nay,  name  not  fondness  to  her  ears, 
The  darling ’s  scarcely  twenty. 

Yes,  and  she  ’ll  loathe  me  unforgiven, 
To  dote  thus  out  of  season  ; 

But  beauty  is  a beam  from  heaven, 
That  dazzles  blind  our  reason. 

I ’ll  challenge  Plato  from  the  skies, 
Yes,  from  his  spheres  harmonic 

To  look  in  M — y C ’s  eyes, 

And  try  to  be  Platonic. 


302 


TO  SIR  FRANCIS  BURDETT, 

ON  niS  SPEECH  DELIVERED  IN  PARLIAMENT,  ACT* 
GUST  7,  1832,  RESPECTING  THE  FOREIGN 
POLICY  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN. 

Burdett,  enjoy  thy  justly  foremost  fame, 

Through  good  and  ill  report — through  calm 
and  storm — 

For  forty  years  the  pilot  of  reform ! 

But  that  which  shall  afresh  entwine  thy  name 
With  patriot  laurels  never  to  be  sere, 

Is  that  thou  hast  come  nobly  forth  to  chide 
Our  slumbering  statesmen  for  their  lack  of  pride — 
Their  flattery  of  Oppressors,  and  their  fear — 
When  Britain’s  lifted  finger,  and  her  frown. 
Might  call  the  nations  up,  and  cast  their  tyrants 
down ! 

Invoke  the  scorn — Alas ! too  few  inherit 
The  scorn  for  despots  cherish’d  by  our  sires. 
That  bafiled  Europe’s  persecuting  fires. 

And  shelter’d  helpless  states ! — Recall  that  spirit, 
And  conjure  back  Old  England’s  haughty 
^ mind — 

Convert  the  men  who  waver  now,  and  pause 
Between  their  love  of  self  and  humankind  ; 


TO  SIR  FRANCIS  BURDETT. 


303 


And  move,  Amphion-like,  those  hearts  of  stone — 
The  hearts  that  have  been  deaf  to  Poland’s  dying 
groan ! 

Tell  them,  we  hold  the  Rights  of  Man  too  dear, 
To  bless  ourselves  with  lonely  freedom  blest ; 
But  could  we  hope,  with  sole  and  selfish  breast, 
To  breathe  untroubled  Freedom’s  atmosphere  ? — 
Suppose  we  wish’d  it  ? England  could  not  stand 
A lone  oasis  in  the  desert  ground 
Of  Europe’s  slavery ; from  the  waste  around 
Oppression’s  fiery  blast  and  whirling  sand 
Would  reach  and  scathe  us  ? No ; it  may  not  be : 
Britannia  and  the  world  conjointly  must  be  free  I 

Burdett,  demand  why  Britons  send  abroad 
Soft  greetings  to  th’  infanticidal  Czar, 

The  Bear  on  Poland’s  babes  that  wages  war. 
Once,  we  are  told,  a mother’s  shriek  o’erawed 
A lion,  and  he  dropt  her  lifted  child  ; 

But  Nicholas,  whom  neither  God  nor  law. 

Nor  Poland’s  shrieking  mothers,  overawe, 
Outholds  to  us  his  friendship’s  gory  clutch : 
Shrink,  Britain — shrink,  my  king  and  country, 
from  the  touch ! 

He  prays  to  Heaven  for  England’s  king,  he  says— 
And  dares  he  to  the  God  of  mercy  kneel, 
Besmear’d  with  massacres  from  head  to  heel  ? 
No ; Moloch  is  his  God — to  him  he  prays 


S04 


ODE  TO  THE  GERMANS. 


And  if  his  weird-like  prayers  had  power  to 
bring 

An  influence,  their  power  would  be  to  curse. 
His  liate  is  baleful,  but  his  love  is  worse — 

A serpent’s  slaver  deadlier  than  its  sting ! 

Oh,  feeble  statesmen — ignominious  times, 

That  lick  the  tyrant’s  feet,  and  smile  upon  his 
crimes ! 

1832. 


ODE  TO  THE  GEEMANS. 

The  spirit  of  Britannia 
Invokes,  across  the  main. 

Her  sister  Allemannia 

To  burst  the  Tyrant’s  chain : 

By  our  kindred  blood,  she  cries. 

Rise,  Allemannians,  rise, 

And  hallow’d  thrice  the  band 
Of  our  kindred  hearts  shall  be, 

When  your  land  shall  be  the  land 
Of  the  free — of  the  free ! 

With  Freedom’s  lion-banner 
Britannia  rules  the  waves ; 

Whilst  your  broad  stone  of  honour  ^ 

1 Ehrenbreitstein  signifies,  in  German,  “ Hie  broad  time  oj 
konoury 


ODE  TO  THE  GERMANS. 


305 


Is  still  the  camp  of  slaves. 

F'or  shame,  for  glory’s  sake, 

Wake,  Allemannians,  wake. 

And  thy  tyrants  now  that  whelm 
Half  the  world  shall  quail  and  flee. 

When  your  realm  shall  be  the  realm 
Of  the  free — of  the  free  1 

Mars  owes  to  you  his  thunder^ 

That  shakes  the  battle  field. 

Yet  to  break  your  bonds  asunder 
No  martial  bolt  has  peal’d. 

Shall  the  laurell’d  land  of  art 
Wear  shackles  on  her  heart  ? 

No ! the  clock  ye  framed  to  tell. 

By  its  sound,  the  march  of  time ; 

Let  it  clang  oppression’s  knell 

O’er  your  clime — o’er  your  clime! 

The  press’s  magic  letters, 

That  blessing  ye  brought  forth, — 

Behold ! it  lies  in  fetters 

On  the  soil  that  gave  it  birth : 

But  the  trumpet  must  be  heard, 

And  the  charger  must  be  spurr’d ; 

For  your  father  Armin’s  Sprite 
Calls  down  from  heaven,  that  ye 
Shall  gird  you  for  the  fight. 

And  be  free ! — and  be  free ! 

1831. 

^ Germany  invented  gunpowder,  clock-making,  and  prinfina 
20 


306 


LINES 

ON  A PICTURE  OF  A GIRL  IN  THE  ATTITUDE  OF 
PRAYER. 

' By  the  Artist  Gruse,  in  the  possession  of  Lady  Stepney. 

Was  man  e’er  doom’d  that  beauty  made 
By  mimic  heart  should  haunt  him ; 

Like  Orpheus,  I adore  a shade, 

And  dote  upon  a phantom. 

Thou  maid  that  in  my  inmost  thought 
Art  fancifully  sainted. 

Why  liv’st  thou  not — why  art  thou  nought 
But  canvas  sweetly  painted  ? 

Whose  looks  seem  lifted  to  the  skies, 

Too  pure  for  love  of  mortals — 

As  if  they  drew  angelic  eyes 

To  greet  thee  at  heaven’s  portals. 

Yet  loveliness  has  here  no  grace, 

Abstracted  or  ideal — 

Art  ne’er  but  from  a living  face 
Drew  looks  so  seeming  real. 


LINES. 


307 


What  wert  thou,  maid  ? — thy  life — thy  name. 

Oblivion  hides  in  mystery ; 

Though  from  thy  face  my  heart  could  frame 
A long  romantic  history. 

Transported  to  thy  time  I seem, 

Though  dust  thy  coffin  covers — 

And  hear  the  songs,  in  fancy’s  dream. 

Of  thy  devoted  lovers. 

How  witching  must  have  been  thy  breath — 
How  sweet  the  living  charmer — 

Whose  every  semblance  after  death 
Can  make  the  heart  grow  warmer  I 


Adieu,  the  charms  that  vainly  move 
My  soul  in  their  possession — 

That  prompt  my  lips  to  speak  of  love. 
Yet  rob  them  of  expression. 

Yet  thee,  dear  picture,  to  have  praised 
Was  but  a poet’s  duty ; 

And  shame  to  him  that  ever  gazed 
Impassive  on  thy  beauty. 


1880. 


308 


LINES 

ON  THE  VIEW  FROM  ST.  LEONARD’S. 

Hail  to  thy  face  and  odours,  glorious  Sea ! 
^Twere  thanklessness  in  me  to  bless  thee  not, 
Great  beauteous  Being!  in  whose  breath  and 
smile 

My  heart  beats  calmer,  and  my  very  mind 
Inhales  salubrious  thoughts.  How  welcomer 
Thy  murmurs  than  the  murmurs  of  the  world  1 
Though  like  the  world  thou  fluctuates!,  thy  din 
To  me  is  peace,  thy  restlessness  repose. 

Ev’n  gladly  I exchange  yon  spring-green  lanes 
With  all  the  darling  fleld-flowers  in  their  prime, 
And  gardens  haunted  by  the  nightingale’s 
Long  trills  and  gushing  ecstasies  of  song. 

For  these  wild  headlands,  and  the  sea-mew’s 
clang — 

With  thee  beneath  my  windows,  pleasant  Sea, 

I long  not  to  o’erlook  earth’s  fairest  glades 
And  green  savannahs — Earth  has  not  a plain 
So  boundless  or  so  beautiful  as  thine ; 

The  eagle’s  vision  cannot  take  it  in : 

The  lightning’s  wing,  too  weak  to  sweep  its  space 


LINES 


809 


Sinks  lialf-way  o’er  it  like  a wearied  bird : 

It  is  the  mirror  of  the  stars,  where  all 
Their  hosts  within  the  concave  firmament, 

Gay  marching  to  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

Can  see  themselves  at  once. 

Nor  on  the  stage 
Of  rural  landscape  are  there  lights  and  shades 
Of  more  harmonious  dance  and  play  than  thine. 
How  vividly  this  moment  brightens  forth. 
Between  gray  parallel  and  leaden  breadths, 

A belt  of  hues  that  stripes  thee  many  a league. 
Flush’d  like  the  rainbow,  or  the  ringdove’s  neck. 
And  giving  to  the  glancing  sea-bird’s  wing 
The  semblance  of  a meteor. 

Mighty  Sea ! 

Cameleon-like  thou  changest,  but  there ’s  love 
In  all  thy  change,  and  constant  sympathy 
With  yonder  Sky — thy  Mistress  ; from  her  brow 
Thou  tak’st  thy  moods  and  wear’st  her  colours  on 
Thy  faithful  bosom  ; morning’s  milky  white. 
Noon’s  sapphire,  or  the  saffron  glow  of  eve ; 

And  all  thy  balmier  hours,  fair  Element, 

Have  such  divine  complexion — crisped  smiles, 
Luxuriant  heavings  and  sweet  whisperings, 

That  little  is  the  wonder  Love’s  own  Queen 
From  thee  of  old  was  fabled  to  have  sprung — 
Creation’s  common ! which  no  human  power 
Can  parcel  or  inclose ; the  lordliest  floods 
And  cataracts  that  the  tiny  hands  of  man 
Can  tame,  conduct,  or  bound,  are  drops  of  dew 


310 


LINES. 


To  thee  that  could’st  subdue  the  Earth  itself, 

And  brook’st  commandment  from  the  heavens 
For  marshalling  thy  waves — [alone 

Yet,  potent  Seal 

How  placidly  thy  moist  lips  speak  ev’n  now 
Along  yon  sparkling  shingles.  Who  can  be 
So  fanciless  as  to  feel  no  gratitude 
That  power  and  grandeur  can  be  so  serene, 
Soothing  the  home-bound  navy’s  peaceful  way, 
And  rocking  ev’n  the  fisher’s  little  bark 
As  gently  as  a mother  rocks  her  child  ? — 

The  inhabitants  of  other  worlds  behold 
Our  orb  more  lucid  for  thy  spacious  share 
On  earth’s  rotundity  ; and  is  he  not 
A blind  worm  in  the  dust,  great  Deep,  the  mat 
Who  sees  not  or  who  seeing  has  no  joy 
In  thy  magnificence  ? What  though  thou  art 
Unconscious  and  material,  thou  canst  reach 
The  inmost  immaterial  mind’s  recess, 

And  with  thy  tints  and  motion  stir  its  chords 
To  music,  like  the  light  on  Memnon’s  lyre ! 

The  Spirit  of  the  Universe  in  thee 
Is  visible  ; thou  hast  in  thee  the  life — 

The  eternal,  graceful,  and  majestic  life 
Of  nature,  and  the  natural  human  heart 
Is  therefore  bound  to  thee  with  holy  love. 

Earth  has  her  gorgeous  towns ; the  earth-circling 


sea 


LINES. 


311 


Has  spires  and  mansions  more  amusive  still — 
Men’s  volant  homes  that  measure  liquid  space 
On  wheel  or  wing.  The  chariot  of  the  land 
With  pain’d  and  panting  steeds  and  clouds  of 
dust 

Has  no  sight-gladdening  motion  like  these  fair 
Careerers  with  the  foam  beneath  their  bows, 
Whose  streaming  ensigns  charm  the  waves  by 
day, 

Whose  carols  and  whose  watch-bells  cheer  the 
night. 

Moor’d  as  they  cast  the  shadows  of  their  masts 
In  long  array,  or  hither  flit  and  yond 
Mysteriously  with  slow  and  crossing  lights, 

Like  spirits  on  the  darkness  of  the  deep. 

There  is  a magnet-like  attraction  m 
These  waters  to  the  imaginative  power 
That  links  the  viewless  with  the  visible. 

And  pictures  things  unseen.  To  realms  beyond 
Yon  highway  of  the  world  my  fancy  flies, 

When  by  her  tall  and  triple  mast  we  know 
Some  noble  voyager  that  has  to  woo 
The  trade-winds  and  to  stem  the  ecliptic  surge. 
The  coral  groves — the  shores  of  conch  and  pearl, 
Where  she  will  cast  her  anchor  and  reflect 
Her  cabin-window  lights  on  warmer  waves. 

And  under  planets  brighter  than  our  own : 

The  nights  of  palmy  isles,  that  she  will  see 
Lit  boundless  by  the  fire-fly — all  the  smells 


B12 


LINES. 


Of  tropic  fruits  that  will  regale  her — all 
The  pomp  of  nature,  and  the  inspiriting 
Varieties  of  life  she  has  to  greet, 

Come  swarming  o’er  the  meditative  mind. 


True,  to  the  dream  of  Fancy,  Ocean  has 
His  darker  tints ; but  where ’s  the  element 
That  chequers  not  its  usefulness  to  man 
With  casual  terror  ? Scathes  not  Earth  some- 
times 

Her  children  with  Tartarean  fires,  or  shakes 
Their  shrieking  cities,  and,  with  one  last  clang 
Of  bells  for  their  own  ruin,  strews  them  flat 
As  riddled  ashes — silent  as  the  grave  ? 

Walks  not  Contagion  on  the  Air  itself.^ 

I should — old  Ocean’s  Saturnalian  days 
And  roaring  nights  of  revelry  and  sport 
With  wreck  and  human  woe — be  loth  to  sing ; 
For  they  are  few,  and  all  their  ills  weigh  light 
Against  his  sacred  usefulness,  that  bids 
Our  pensile  globe  revolve  in  purer  air. 

Here  Morn  and  Eve  with  blushing  thanks  re- 
ceive 

Their  freshening  dews,  gay  fluttering  breezes  cool 
Their  wings  to  fan  the  brow  of  fever’d  climes, 
And  here  the  Spring  dips  down  her  emerald  urn 
For  showers  to  glad  the  earth. 

Old  Ocean  was 

Infinity  of  ages  ere  we  breathed 
Existence — and  he  will  be  beautiful 


LINES. 


813 


When  all  the  living  world  that  sees  him  now 
Shall  roll  unconscious  dust  around  the  sun. 
Quelling  from  age  to  age  the  vital  throb 
In  human  hearts,  Death  shall  not  subjugate 
The  pulse  that  swells  in  his  stupendous  breast, 
Or  interdict  his  minstrelsy  to  sound 
In  thundering  concert  with  the  quiring  winds  ; 
But  long  as  Man  to  parent  Nature  owns 
Instinctive  homage,  and  in  times  beyond 
The  power  of  thought  to  reach,  bard  after  bard 
Shall  sing  thy  glory.  Beatific  Sea. 

1831. 


Campbell,  who  was  peculiarly  impartial  in  judging  of  the 
merit  of  his  own  productions,  more  than  once  expressed  an 
opinion  that  these  lines  were  his  best,  as  being  the  most  tho- 
\UTid, 


314 


THE  DEAD  EAGLE. 

WRITTEN  AT  ORAN. 

Fall’n  as  he  is,  this  king  of  birds  still  seems 
Like  royalty  in  ruins.  Though  his  eyes 
Are  shut,  that  look  undazzled  on  the  sun, 

He  was  the  sultan  of  the  sky,  and  earth 
Paid  tribute  to  his  eyry.  It  was  perch’d 
Higher  than  human  conqueror  ever  built 
His  banner’d  fort.  Where  Atlas’  top  looks  o’er 
Zaliara’s  desert  to  the  equator’s  line  : 

From  thence  the  winged  despot  mark’d  his  prey, 
Above  th’  encampments  of  the  Bedouins,  ere 
Their  watchfires  were  extinct,  or  camels  knelt 
To  take  their  loads,  or  horsemen  scour’d  the  plain, 
And  there  he  dried  his  feathers  in  the  dawn. 
Whilst  yet  th’  unwaken’d  world  was  dark  below. 

There ’s  such  a charm  in  natural  strength  and 
power, 

That  human  fancy  has  for  ever  paid 
Poetic  homage  to  the  bird  of  Jove. 

Hence,  ’neath  his  image,  Rome  array’d  her  turms 
And  cohorts  for  the  conquest  of  the  world. 

And  figuring  his  flight,  the  mind  is  fill’d 


THE  DEAD  EAGLE. 


315 


With  thoughts  that  mock  the  pride  of  wingless 
man. 

True  the  carr’d  aeronaut  can  mount  as  high  ; 

But  what ’s  the  triumph  of  his  volant  art  ? 

A rash  intrusion  on  the  realms  of  air. 

His  helmless  vehicle,  a silken  toy, 

A bubble  bursting  in  the  thunder-cloud  ; 

His  course  has  no  volition,  and  he  drifts 
The  passive  plaything  of  the  winds.  Not  such 
Was  this  proud  bird : he  clove  the  adverse  storm, 
And  cuff’d  it  with  his  wings.  He  stopp’d  his 
flight 

As  easily  as  the  Arab  reins  his  steed. 

And  stood  at  pleasure  ’neath  Heaven’s  zenith, 
like 

A lamp  suspended  from  its  azure  dome. 

Whilst  underneath  him  the  world’s  mountains  lay 
Like  mole  hills,  and  her  streams  like  lucid  threads. 
Then  downward,  faster  than  a falling  star, 

He  near’d  the  earth,  until  his  shape  distinct 
Was  blackly  shadow’d  on  the  sunny  ground ; 

And  deeper  terror  hush’d  the  wilderness, 

To  hear  his  nearer  whoop.  Then,  up  again 
He  soar’d  and  wheel’d.  There  was  an  air  of  scorn 
In  all  his  movements,  whether  he  threw  round 
His  crested  head  to  look  behind  him ; or 
Lay  vertical  and  sportively  display’d 
The  inside  whiteness  of  his  wing  declined, 

In  gyres  and  undulations  full  of  grace, 

A.n  object  beautifying  Heaven  itself. 


316 


THE  DEAD  EAGLE. 


He — reckless  who  was  victor,  and  above 
The  hearing  of  their  guns — saw  fleets  engaged 
In  flaming  combat.  It  was  nought  to  him 
What  carnage,  Moor  or  Christian,  strew’d  theii 
decks. 

But  if  his  intellect  had  match’d  his  wings, 
Methinks  he  would  have  scorn’d  man’s  vaunted 
power 

To  plough  the  deep  ; his  pinions  bore  him  down 
To  Algiers  the  warlike,  or  the  coral  groves, 

That  blush  beneath  the  green  of  Bona’s  waves  ; 
And  traversed  in  an  hour  a wider  space 
Than  yonder  gallant  ship,  with  all  her  sails 
Wooing  the  winds,  can  cross  from  morn  till  eve. 
His  bright  eyes  were  his  compass,  earth  his  chart, 
His  talons  anchor’d  on  the  stormiest  cliff. 

And  on  the  very  light-house  rock  he  perch’d. 
When  winds  churn’d  white  the  waves. 

The  earthquake’s  self 
Disturb’d  not  him  that  memorable  day, 

When,  o’er  yon  table-land,  where  Spain  had  built, 
Cathedrals,  cannon’d  forts,  and  palaces, 

A palsy  stroke  of  Nature  shook  Oran, 

Turning  her  city  to  a sepulchre. 

And  strewing  into  rubbish  all  her  homes  ; 

Amidst  whose  traceable  foundations  now, 

Of  streets  and  squares,  the  hyaena  hides  himself. 
That  hour  beheld  him  fly  as  careless  o’er 
The  stifled  shrieks  of  thousands  buried  quick. 

As  lately  when  he  pounced  the  speckled  snakCj 


TUE  DEAD  EAGLE. 


317 


Coil’d  in  yon  mallows  and  wide  nettle  fields 
That  mantle  o’er  the  dead  old  Spanish  town. 

Strange  is  the  imagination’s  dread  delight 
In  objects  link’d  with  danger,  death  and  pain  I 
Fresh  from  the  luxuries  of  polish’d  life, 

The  echo  of  these  wilds  enchanted  me ; 

And  my  heart  beat  with  joy  when  first  I heard 
A lion’s  roar  come  down  the  Lybian  wind, 
Across  yon  long,  wide,  lonely  inland  lake, 

Where  boat  ne’er  sails  from  homeless  shore  to 
shore. 

And  yet  Numidia’s  landscape  has  its  spots 
Of  pastoral  pleasantness — though  far  between. 
The  village  planted  near  the  Maraboot’s 
Round  roof  has  aye  its  feathery  palm  trees 
Pair’d,  for  in  solitude  they  bear  no  fruits. 

Here  nature’s  hues  all  harmonize — fields  white 
With  alasum,  or  blue  with  bugloss — ^banks 
Of  glossy  fennel,  blent  with  tulips  wild. 

And  sunflowers,  like  a garment  prankt  with  gold ; 
Acres  and  miles  of  opal  asphodel, 

Where  sports  and  couches  the  black-eyed  gazelle. 
Here,  too,  the  air ’s  harmonious — deep-toned  doves 
Coo  to  the  fife-like  carol  of  the  lark  ; 

And  when  they  cease,  the  holy  nightingale 
Winds  up  his  long,  long  shakes  of  ecstasy. 

With  notes  that  seem  but  the  protracted  sounds 
Of  glassy  runnels  bubbling  over  rocks. 


818 


SONG. 

To  Love  in  my  heart,  I exclaim’d  t’other  morning, 

Thou  hast  dwelt  here  too  long,  little  lodger,  take 
warning ; 

Thou  shalt  tempt  me  no  more  from  my  life’s  sober 
duty. 

To  go  gadding,  bewitch’d  by  the  young  eyes  of 
beauty. 

For  weary’s  the  wooing,  ah,  weary ! 

When  an  old  man  will  have  a young  dearie. 

The  god  left  my  heart,  at  its  surly  reflections. 

But  came  back  on  pretext  of  some  sweet  recol- 
lections. 

And  he  made  me  forget  what  I ought  to  remember, 

That  the  rose-bud  of  June  cannot  bloom  in 
November. 

Ah ! Tom,  ’tis  all  o’er  with  thy  gay  days — 

Write  psalms,  and  not  songs  for  the  ladies. 

But  time ’s  been  so  far  from  my  wisdom  enriching, 

That  the  longer  I live,  beauty  seems  more  be- 
witching ; 


SONG. 


319 


And  the  only  new  lore  my  experience  traces, 

Is  to  find  fresh  enchantment  in  magical  faces. 

How  weary  is  wisdom,  how  weary  ! 

When  one  sits  by  a smiling  young  dearie ! 

And  should  she  be  wroth  that  my  homage  pur- 
sues her, 

I will  turn  and  retort  on  my  lovely  accuser ; 

Who ’s  to  blame,  that  my  heart  by  your  image  is 
haunted — 

It  is  you,  the  enchantress — not  I,  the  enchanted. 

Would  you  have  me  behave  more  discreetly. 
Beauty,  look  not  so  killingly  sweetly. 


320 


LINES 

WRITTEN  IN  A BLANK  LEAF  OF  LA  PEROUSE’S 
VOYAGES. 

Loved  Voyager ! his  pages  had  a zest 
More  sweet  than  fiction  to  my  wondering  breast 
When,  rapt  in  fancy,  many  a boyish  day 
I track’d  his  wanderings  o’er  the  watery  way, 
Roam’d  round  the  Aleutian  isles  in  waking  dreams. 
Or  pluck’d  Jleur-de~lys  by  Jesso’s  streams — 
Or  gladly  leap’d  on  that  far  Tartar  strand. 
Where  Europe’s  anchor  ne’er  had  bit  the  sand. 
Where  scarce  a roving  wild  tribe  cross’d  the  plain, 
Or  human  voice  broke  nature’s  silent  reign ; 

But  vast  and  grassy  deserts  feed  the  bear. 

And  sweeping  deer-herds  dread  no  hunter’s  snare. 
Such  young  delight  his  real  records  brought. 

His  truth  so  touch’d  romantic  springs  of  thought. 
That  all  my  after-life — his  fate  and  fame 
Entwined  romance  with  La  Perouse’s  name. — 
Fair  were  his  ships,  expert  his  gallant  crews. 

And  glorious  was  th’  emprise  of  La  Perouse, — 
Humanely  glorious  ! Men  will  weep  for  him, 
When  many  a guilty  martial  fame  is  dim : 

He  plough’d  the  deep  to  bind  no  captive’s  chain— 


LINES. 


321 


Pursued  no  rapine — strew’d  no  wreck  with  slain; 
And,  save  that  in  the  deep  themselves  lie  low, 
His  heroes  pluck’d  no  wreath  from  human  woe. 
’Twas  his  the  earth’s  remotest  bound  to  scan, 
Conciliating  with  gifts  barbaric  man — 

Enrich  the  world’s  contemporaneous  mind, 

And  amplify  the  picture  of  mankind. 

Far  on  the  vast  Pacific — ’midst  those  isles, 

O’er  which  the  earliest  morn  of  Asia  smiles, 

He  sounded  and  gave  charts  to  many  a shore 
And  gulf  of  Ocean  new  to  nautic  lore  ; 

Yet  he  that  led  Discovery  o’er  the  wave. 

Still  fills  himself  an  undiscover’d  grave. 

He  came  not  back, — Conjecture’s  cheek  grew  pale, 
Year  after  year — in  no  propitious  gale. 

His  lilied  banner  held  its  homeward  way. 

And  Science  sadden’d  at  her  martyr’s  stay. 

An  age  elapsed — no  wreck  told  where  or  when 
The  chief  went  down  with  all  his  gallant  men. 

Or  whether  by  the  storm  and  wild  sea  flood 
He  perish’d,  or  by  wilder  men  of  blood — 

The  shuddering  Fancy  only  guess’d  his  doom. 
And  Doubt  to  Sorrow  gave  but  deeper  gloom. 

An  age  elapsed — when  men  were  dead  or  gray. 
Whose  hearts  had  mourn’d  him  in  their  youthful 
day; 

Fame  traced  on  Mannicolo’s  shore  at  last. 

The  boiling  surge  had  mounted  o’er  his  mast. 

The  islemen  told  of  some  surviving  men. 

But  Christian  eyes  beheld  them  ne’er  again. 

21 


822 


LINES. 


Sad  bourne  of  all  his  toils — ^with  all  his  band — 
To  sleep,  wreck’d,  shroudless,  on  a savage  strand  I 
Yet  what  is  all  that  fires  a hero’s  scorn 
Of  death  ? — the  hope  to  live  in  hearts  unborn : 
Life  to  the  brave  is  not  its  fieeting  breath. 

But  worth — foretasting  fame,  that  follows  death. 
That  worth  had  La  Perouse — that  meed  he  won ; 
He  sleeps — ^his  life’s  long  stormy  watch  is  done. 
In  the  great  deep,  whose  boundaries  and  space 
He  measured,  Fate  ordain’d  his  resting-place; 
But  bade  his  fame,  like  th’  Ocean  rolling  o’er 
His  relics — visit  every  earthly  shore. 

Fair  Science  on  that  Ocean’s  azure  robe 
Still  writes  his  name  in  picturing  the  globe. 

And  paints — (what  fairer  wreath  could  glory 
twine  ?) 

His  watery  course — a world-encircling  line. 

1831. 


WILLIAM  BEATTIE,  M.D., 


IN  REMEMBRANCE 

OF  LONG-SUBSISTING  AND  MUTUAL  FRIENDSHIP 
THE  POEMS  “ GLENCOE” 

AND  THE  OTHER  PIECES  THAT  FOLLOW 
IN  THIS  VOLUME, 

ARE  INSCRIBED 
BY 


London, 

December y 1842. 


THE  AUTHOB. 


PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


THE  PILGRBI  OF  GLENCOE 


1 KECEivED  the  substance  of  the  tradition  on  which  this 
Poem  is  founded,  in  the  first  instance,  from  a friend  in  Lon 
don,  who  wrote  to  ]\Iatthew  N.  Macdonald,  Esq.,  of  Edinburgh. 
He  had  the  kindness  to  send  me  a circumstantial  account  of 
the  tradition;  and  that  gentleman’s  knowledge  of  the  High- 
lands, as  well  as  his  particular  acquaintance  with  the  district 
of  Glencoe,  leave  me  no  doubt  of  the  incident  having  really 
happened.  I have  not  departed  from  the  main  facts  of  the 
tradition  as  reported  to  me  by  Mr.  Macdonald ; only  I have 
endeavoured  to  colour  the  personages  of  the  story,  and  to 
make  them  as  distinctive  as  possible. 


The  sunset  sheds  a horizontal  smile 
O’er  Highland  frith  and  Hebridean  isle, 

While,  gay  with  gambols  of  its  finny  shoals, 

The  glancing  wave  rejoices  as  it  rolls 
With  streamer’d  busses,  that  distinctly  shine 
All  downward,  pictured  in  the  glassy  brine  ; 
Whose  crews,  with  faces  brightening  in  the  sun, 
Keep  measure  with  their  oars,  and  all  in  one 
Strike  up  th’  old  Gaelic  song. — Sweep,  rowers, 
sweep ! 

The  fisher’s  glorious  spoils  are  in  the  deep. 

Day  sinks — ^but  twilight  owes  the  traveller  soon, 
To  reach  his  bourne,  a round  uncloudtjd  moon. 


326 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


Bespeaking  long  undarken’d  hours  of  time  ; 

False  hope — the  Scots  are  steadfast — not  their 
clime. 

A war-worn  soldier  from  the  western  land 
Seeks  Cona’s  vale  bj  Ballihoula’s  strand ; 

The  vale,  by  eagle-haunted  cliffs  o’erhung, 

Where  Fingal  fought  and  Ossian’s  harp  was 
strung — 

Our  veteran’s  forehead,  bronzed  on  sultry  plains, 
Had  stood  the  brunt  of  thirty  fought  campaigns ; 
He  well  could  vouch  the  sad  romance  of  wars, 
And  count  the  dates  of  battles  by  his  scars ; 

For  he  had  served  where  o’er  and  o’er  again 
Britannia’s  oriflamme  had  lit  the  plain 
Of  glory — and  victorious  stamp’d  her  name 
On  Oudenarde’s  and  Blenheim’s  fields  of  fame. 
Nine  times  in  battle-field  his  blood  had  stream’d. 
Yet  vivid  still  his  veteran  blue  eye  gleam’d ; 

Full  well  he  bore  his  knapsack — unoppress’d, 
And  march’d  with  soldier-like  erected  crest : 

Nor  sign  of  ev’n  loquacious  age  he  wore, 

Save  when  he  told  his  life’s  adventures  o’er ; 
Some  tired  of  these;  for  terms  to  him  were 
dear 

Too  tactical  by  far  for  vulgar  ear  ; 

As  when  he  talk’d  of  rampart  and  ravine, 

And  trenches  fenced  with  gabion  and  fascine — 
But  when  his  theme  possess’d  him  all  and  whole, 
He  scorn’d  proud  puzzling  words  and  warm’d  the 
soul ; 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


327 


Hush’d  groups  hung  on  his  lips  with  fond  surprise, 
That  sketch’d  old  scenes — like  pictures  to  their 
eyes : — 

The  wide  war-plain,  with  banners  glowing  bright, 
And  bayonets  to  the  furthest  stretch  of  sight ; 
The  pause,  more  dreadful  than  the  peal  to  come 
From  volleys  blazing  at  the  beat  of  drum — 

Till  all  the  field  of  thundering  lines  became 
Two  level  and  confronted  sheets  of  flame. 

Then  to  the  charge,  when  Marlbro’s  hot  pursuit 
Trode  France’s  gilded  lilies  underfoot ; 

He  came  and  kindled — and  wdth  martial  lung 
Would  chant  the  very  march  their  trumpets  sung. — 

Th’  old  soldier  hoped,  ere  evening’s  light  should 
fail, 

To  reach  a home,  south-east  of  Cona’s  vale  ; 

But  looking  at  Bennevis,  capp’d  with  snow, 

He  saw  its  mists  come  curling  down  below, 

And  spread  white  darkness  o’er  the  sunset 
glow ; — 

Fast  rolling  like  tempestuous  Ocean’s  spray. 

Or  clouds  from  troops  in  battle’s  fiery  day — 

So  dense,  his  quarry  ’scaped  the  falcon’s  sight, 
The  owl  alone  exulted,  hating  light. 

Benighted  thus  our  pilgrim  groped  his  ground, 
Half  ’twixt  the  river’s  and  the  cataract’s  sound. 

At  last  a sheep-dog’s  bark  inform’d  his  ear 
Some  human  habitation  might  be  near ; 


'32S  THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 

Anon  sheep-bleatings  rose  from  rock  to  rock,— 
'Twas  Luath  hounding  to  their  fold  the  flock. 

Ere  long  the  cock’s  obstreperous  clarion  rang, 
And  next,  a maid’s  sweet  voice,  that  spinning  sang 
At  last  amidst  the  green-sward  (gladsome  sight !) 
A cottage  stood,  with  straw-roof  golden  bright. 

He  knock’d,  was  welcomed  in ; none  ask’d  his 
name, 

Nor  whither  he  was  bound  nor  whence  he  came ; 
But  he  was  beckon’d  to  the  stranger’s  seat. 

Right  side  the  chimney  fire  of  blazing  peat. 

Blest  Hospitality  makes  not  her  home 
In  walled  parks  and  castellated  dome ; 

She  flies  the  city’s  needy  greedy  crowd. 

And  shuns  still  more  the  mansions  of  the  proud ; 
The  balm  of  savage  or  of  simple  life, 

A wild  flower  cut  by  culture’s  polish’d  knife  ! 

The  house,  no  common  sordid  shieling  cot. 

Spoke  inmates  of  a comfortable  lot. 

The  Jacobite  white  rose  festoon’d  their  door ; 

The  windows  sash’d  and  glazed,  the  oaken  floor, 
The  chimney  graced  with  antlers  of  the  deer. 

The  rafters  hung  with  meat  for  winter  cheer, 

And  all  the  mansion,  indicated  plain 
Its  master  a superior  shepherd  swain. 

I'heir  supper  came — the  table  soon  was  spread 
With  eggs  and  milk  and  cheese  and  barley  bread 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


329 


The  family  were  three — a father  hoar, 

Whose  age  you’d  guess  at  seventy  years  or 
more, 

His  son  look’d  fifty — cheerful  like  her  lord 
His  comely  wife  presided  at  the  board ; 

All  three  had  that  peculiar  courteous  grace 
Which  marks  the  meanest  of  the  Highland  race ; 
Warm  hearts  that  burn  alike  in  weal  and  woe, 

As  if  the  north-wind  fann’d  their  bosoms’  glow ! 
But  wide  unlike  their  souls : old  Norman’s  eye 
Was  proudly  savage  ev’n  in  courtesy. 

His  sinewy  shoulders — each,  though  aged  and 
lean, 

Broad  as  the  curl’d  Herculean  head  between, — 
His  scornful  lip,  his  eyes  of  yellow  fire, 

And  nostrils  that  dilated  quick  with  ire. 

With  ever  downward-slanting  shaggy  brows. 
Mark’d  the  old  lion  you  would  dread  to  rouse. 

Norman,  in  truth,  had  led  his  earlier  life 
In  raids  of  red  revenge  and  feudal  strife  ; 
Religious  duty  in  revenge  he  saw. 

Proud  Honour’s  right  and  Nature’s  honest  law ; 
First  in  the  charge  and  foremost  in  pursuit, 
Long-breath’d,  deep-chested,  and  in  speed  of  foot 
A match  for  stags — still  fleeter  whei  the  prey 
Was  man,  in  persecution’s  evil  day  ; 

Cheer’d  to  that  chase  by  brutal  bold  Dundee, 

No  Highland  hound  had  lapp’d  more  blood  than 
he. 


830 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


Oft  had  he  changed  the  covenanter’s  breath 
From  howls  of  psalmody  to  howls  of  death ; 

And  though  long  bound  to  peace,  it  irk’d  him  still 
His  dirk  had  ne’er  one  hated  foe  to  kill. 

Yet  Norman  had  tierce  virtues,  that  would  mock 
Cold-blooded  tories  of  the  modern  stock 
AVho  starve  the  breadless  poor  with  fraud  and 
cant ; — 

He  slew  and  saved  them  from  the  pangs  of  want. 
Nor  was  his  solitary  lawless  charm 
Mere  dauntlessness  of  soul  and  strength  of  arm ; 
He  had  his  moods  of  kindness  now  and  then, 

And  feasted  ev’n  well-manner’d  lowland  men 
Who  blew  not  up  his  Jacobitish  flame, 

Nor  prefaced  with  ‘‘  pretender  ” Charles’s  name. 
Fierce,  but  by  sense  and  kindness  not  unwon. 

He  loved,  respected  ev’n,  his  wiser  son ; 

And  brook’d  from  him  expostulations  sage, 

When  all  advisers  else  were  spurn’d  with  rage. 

Far  happier  times  had  moulded  Ronald’s  mind, 
By  nature  too  of  more  sagacious  kind. 

His  breadth  of  brow,  and  Roman  shape  of  chin, 
Squared  well  with  the  firm  man  that  reign’d 
within. 

Contemning  strife  as  childishness,  1 e stood 
With  neighbours  on  kind  terms  of  neighbourhoodi 
And  whilst  his  father’s  anger  nought  avail’d. 

His  rational  remonstrance  never  fail’d. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


331 


Full  skilfully  be  managed  farm  and  fold, 

Wrote,  cipher’d,  profitably  bought  and  sold  ; 

And,  bless’d  with  pastoral  leisure,  deeply  took 
Delight  to  be  inform’d,  by  speech  or  book, 

Of  that  wide  world  beyond  his  mountain  home. 
Where  oft  his  curious  fancy  loved  to  roam. 

Oft  while  his  faithful  dog  ran  round  his  flock. 

He  read  long  hours  when  summer  warm’d  the 
rock : [warm, 

Guests  who  could  tell  him  aught  were  welcomed 
Ev’n  pedlars’  news  had  to  his  mind  a charm ; 
That  like  an  intellectual  magnet-stone 
Drew  truth  from  judgments  simpler  than  his  own, 

His  soul’s  proud  instinct  sought  not  to  enjoy 
Romantic  fictions,  like  a minstrel  boy  ; 

Truth,  standing  on  her  solid  square,  from  youth 
He  worshipp’d — stern  uncompromising  truth. 

His  goddess  kindlier  smiled  on  him,  to  find 
A votary  of  her  light  in  land  so  blind ; 

She  bade  majestic  History  unroll 
Broad  views  of  public  welfare  to  his  soul. 

Until  he  look’d  on  clannish  feuds  and  foes 
With  scorn,  as  on  the  wars  of  kites  and  crows ; 
Whilst  doubts  assail’d  him  o’er  and  o’er  again, 

If  men  were  made  for  kings  or  kings  for  men. 

At  last,  to  Norman’s  horror  and  dismay. 

He  flat  denied  the  Stuarts’  right  to  sway. 

No  blow-pipe  ever  whiten’d  furnace  fire. 

Quick  as  these  words  lit  up  his  father’s  ire; 


332 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


Who  envied  even  old  Abraham  for  his  faith, 
Ordain’d  to  put  his  only  son  to  death. 

He  started  up — in  such  a mood  of  soul 
The  white  bear  bites  his  showman’s  stirring  pole  ; 
He  danced  too,  and  brought  out,  with  snarl  and 
howl, 

^ O Dia ! Dia ! ” and,  “ Dioul ! Dioul ! ” ^ 

But  sense  foils  fury — as  the  blowing  whale 
Spouts,  bleeds,  and  dyes  the  waves  without 
avail — 

Wears  out  the  cable’s  length  that  makes  him  fast, 
But,  worn  himself,  comes  up  harpoon’d  at  last — 
E’en  so,  devoid  of  sense,  succumbs  at  length 
Mere  strength  of  zeal  to  intellectual  strength. 

His  son’s  close  logic  so  perplex’d  his  pate, 

Th’  old  hero  rather  shunn’d  than  sought  debate  ; 
Exhausting  his  vocabulary’s  store 
Of  oaths  and  nicknames,  he  could  say  no  more. 
But  tapp’d  his  mull,^  roll’d  mutely  in  his  chair. 
Or  only  whistled  Killiecrankie’s  air. 

Witch-legends  Ronald  scorn’d — ghost,  kelpie, 
wraith. 

And  all  the  trumpery  of  vulgar  faith  ; 

Grave  matrons  ev’n  were  shock’d  to  hear  him 
slight 

Authenticated  facts  of  second-sight — 

1 God  and  the  devil —a  favourite  ejaculation  of  Highland 
saints. 

Snuff-horn. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


333 


Yet  never  flinch’d  his  mockery  to  confound 
The  brutal  superstition  reigning  round. 

Reserved  himself,  still  Ronald  loved  to  scan 
Men’s  natures — and  he  liked  the  old  hearty  man ; 
So  did  the  partner  of  his  heart  and  life — 

WAo  pleased  her  Ronald,  ne’er  displeased  his 
wife. 

His  sense,  ’tis  true,  compared  with  Norman’s  son, 
Was  commonplace — his  tales  too  long  outspun  : 
Y^et  Allan  Campbell’s  sympathizing  mind 
Had  held  large  intercourse  with  humankind ; 
Seen  much,  and  gaily  graphically  drew 
The  men  of  every  country,  clime,  and  hue  ; 

Nor  ever  stoop’d,  though  soldier-like  his  strain, 
To  ribaldry  of  mirth  or  oath  profane. 

All  went  harmonious  till  the  guest  began 
To  talk  about  his  kindred,  chief  and  clan. 

And,  with  his  own  biography  engross’d. 

Mark’d  not  the  changed  demeanour  of  each  host ; 
Nor  how  old  choleric  Norman’s  cheek  became 
Flush’d  at  the  Campbell  and  Breadalbane  n^^me. 
Assigning,  heedless  of  impending  harm. 

Their  steadfast  silence  to  his  story’s  charm, 

He  touch’d  a subject  perilous  to  touch — 

Saying,  “ ’Midst  this  well-known  vale  I wonder’d 
much 

To  lose  my  way.  In  boyhood,  long  ago, 

I roam’d,  and  loved  each  pathway  of  Glencoe ; 
Trapp’d  leverets,  pluck’d  wild  berries  on  its  braes. 
And  fish’d  along  its  banks  long  summer  days 


334 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


But  times  grew  stormy — bitter  feuds  arose, 

Our  clan  was  merciless  to  prostrate  foes. 

I never  palliated  my  chieftain’s  blame, 

But  mourn’d  the  sin,  and  redden’d  for  the  shame 
Of  that  foul  morn  (Heaven  blot  it  from  the  year !) 
Whose  shapes  and  shrieks  still  haunt  my  dreaming 
ear. 

What  could  I do  ? a serf — Glenlyon’s  page, 

A soldier  sworn  at  nineteen  years  of  age  ; 

T’  have  breathed  one  grieved  remonstrance  to  our 
chief. 

The  pit  or  gallows^  would  have  cured  my  grief. 
Forced,  passive  as  the  musket  in  my  hand, 

I march’d-^when,  feigning  royalty’s  command, 
Against  the  clan  Macdonald,  Stair’s  lord 
Sent  forth  exterminating  fire  and  sword  ; 

And  troops  at  midnight  through  the  vale  defiled, 
Enjoin’d  to  slaughter  woman,  man,  and  child. 

My  clansmen  many  a year  had  cause  to  dread 
The  curse  that  day  entail’d  upon  their  head ; 
Glenlyon’s  self  confess’d  th’  avenging  spell — 

I saw  it  light  on  him. 

“ It  so  befell : — 

A soldier  from  our  ranks  to  death  was  brought. 
By  .sentence  deem’d  too  dreadful  for  his  fault; 

All  was  prepared — the  coffin  and  the  cart 
Stood  near  twelve  muskets,  levell’d  at  his  heart. 

1 To  hang  their  vassals,  or  starve  them  to  death  in  a dun- 
geon, was  a privilege  of  the  Highland  chiefs  who  had  heredi- 
tary jurisdictions. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


335 


The  chief,  whose  breast  for  ruth  had  still  some 
room, 

Obtain’d  reprieve  a day  before  his  doom ; — 

But  of  the  awarded  boon  surmised  no  breath. 

The  sufferer  knelt,  blindfolded  waiting  death, — 
And  met  it.  Though  Glenlyon  had  desired 
The  musketeers  to  watch  before  they  fired ; 

If  from  his  pocket  they  should  see  he  drew 
A handkerchief — their  volley  should  ensue ; 

But  if  he  held  a paper  in  its  place. 

It  should  be  hail’d  the  sign  of  pardoning  grace : — 
He,  in  a fatal  moment’s  absent  fit, 

Drew  forth  the  handkerchief,  and  not  the  writ ; 
Wept  o’er  the  corpse  and  wrung  his  hands  in  woe, 
Crying,  ‘ Here ’s  thy  curse  again — Glencoe  ! 
Glencoe !’  ” 

Though  thus  his  guest  spoke  feelings  just  and 
clear. 

The  cabin’s  patriarch  lent  impatient  ear  ; 

Wroth  that,  beneath  his  roof,  a living  man 
Should  boast  the  swine-blood  of  the  Campbell 
clan; 

He  hasten’d  to  the  door — call’d  out  his  son 
To  follow  ; walk’d  a space,  and  thus  begun  : — 

“ You  have  not,  Ronald,  at  this  day  to  learn 
The  oath  I took  beside  my  father’s  cairn. 

When  you  were  but  a babe  a twelvemonth  born ; 
Sworn  on  my  dirk — by  all  that ’s  sacred,  sworn 
To  be  revenged  for  blood  that  cries  to  Heaven — 
Blood  unforgiveablc,  and  unforgiven : 


I 


336 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


But  never  power,  since  then^  have  I possess’d 
To  plant  my  dagger  in  a Campbell’s  breast. 
Now,  here ’s  a self-accusing  partisan, 

Steep’d  in  the  slaughter  of  Macdonald’s  clan  ; 

I scorn  his  civil  speech  and  sweet-lipp’d  show 
Of  pity — he  is  still  our  house’s  foe: 

J ’])  perjure  not  myself — but  sacrifice 
The  caitiff  ere  to-morrow’s  sun  arise. 

Stand  ! hear  me — you  ’re  my  son,  the  deed  is  just 
And  if  1 say — it  must  be  done — it  must: 

A debt  of  honour  which  my  clansmen  crave. 
Their  very  dead  demand  it  from  the  grave.” 
Conjuring  then  their  ghosts,  he  humbly  pray’d 
Their  patience  till  the  blood-debt  should  be  paid. 
But  Ronald  stopp’d  him. — “ Sir,  Sir,  do  not  dim 
Your  honour  by  a moment’s  angry  whim  ; 

Your  soul’s  too  just  and  generous,  were  you  cool. 
To  act  at  once  th’  assassin  and  the  fool. 

Bring  me  the  men  on  whom  revenge  is  due, 

And  I will  dirk  them  willingly  as  you  ! 

But  all  the  real  authors  of  that  black 

Old  deed  are  gone — you  cannot  bring  them  back. 

And  this  poor  guest  ’tis  palpable  to  judge. 

In  all  his  life  ne’er  bore  our  clan  a grudge ; 
Dragg’d  when  a boy  against  his  will  to  share 
That  massacre,  he  loath’d  the  foul  affair. 

Think,  if  your  harden’d  heart  be  conscience-proof 
To  stab  a stranger  underneath  your  roof! 

One  who  has  broken  bread  within  your  gate — 
Reflect— before  reflection  comes  too  late, — 


I 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


337 


Such  ugly  consequences  there  may  be 
As  judge  and  jury,  rope  and  gallows-tree. 

The  days  of  dirking  snugly  are  gone  by, 

Where  could  you  hide  the  body  privily 
When  search  is  made  for ’t  ? ” 

“ Plunge  it  in  yon  flood, 
That  Campbells  crimson’d  with  our  kindred  blood.” 
“Ay,  but  the  corpse  may  float — ” 

“ Pshaw  ! dead  men  tell 
No  tales — nor  will  it  float  if  leaded  well. 

1 am  determined ! ” — What  could  Ronald  do  ? 

No  house  within  ear-reach  of  his  halloo, 

Though  that  would  but  have  publish’d  household 
shame, 

He  temporized  wdth  wrath  he  could  not  tame, 
And  said  “ Come  in,  till  night  put  off*  the  deed. 
And  ask  a few  more  questions  ere  he  bleed.” 
They  enter’d ; Norman  with  portentous  air 
Strode  to  a nook  behind  the  stranger’s  chair, 

And,  speaking  nought,  sat  grimly  in  the  shade. 
With  dagger  in  his  clutch  beneath  his  plaid. 

His  son’s  own  plaid,  should  Norman  pounce  his 
prey, 

Was  coil’d  thick  round  his  arm,  to  turn  away 
Or  blunt  the  dirk.  He  purposed  leaving  free 
The  door,  and  giving  Allan  time  to  flee, 

Whilst  he  should  wrestle  with,  (no  safe  emprise,) 
His  father’s  maniac  strength  and  giant  size. 
Meanwhile  he  could  nowise  communicate 
The  impending  peril  to  his  anxious  mate ; 

22 


338 


THE  PILGRIM  OP  GLENCOE. 


But  she,  convinced  no  trifling  matter  now 
Disturb’d  the  wonted  calm  of  Ronald’s  brow, 
Divined  too  well  the  cause  of  gloom  that  lower’d, 
And  sat  with  speechless  terror  overpower’d, 

Her  face  was  pale,  so  lately  blithe  and  bland, 

The  stocking  knitting-wire  shook  in  her  hand. 
But  Ronald  and  the  guest  resumed  their  thread 
Of  converse,  still  its  theme  that  day  of  dread. 

Much,”  said  the  veteran,  “ much  as  I bemoan 
That  deed,  when  half  a hundred  years  have  flown, 
Still  on  one  circumstance  I can  reflect 
That  mitigates  the  dreadful  retrospect. 

A mother  with  her  child  before  us  flew, 

I had  the  hideous  mandate  to  pursue ; 

But  swift  of  foot,  outspeeding  bloodier  men, 

I chased,  o’ertook  her  in  the  winding  glen. 

And  show’d  her  palpitating,  where  to  save 
Herself  and  infant  in  a secret  cave  ; 

Nor  left  them  till  I saw  that  they  could  mock 
Pursuit  and  search  within  that  sheltering  rock.” 

Heavens  ! ” Ronald  cried,  in  accents  gladly  wild, 

That  woman  was  my  mother — I the  child ! 

Of  you  unknown  by  name  she  late  and  air  ^ 
Spoke,  wept,  and  ever  bless’d  you  in  her  prayer, 
Ev’n  to  her  death ; describing  you  withal 
A well-look’d  florid  youth,  blue-eyed  and  tall.’^ 
They  rose,  exchanged  embrace  : the  old  lion  tlien 
Upstarted,  metamorphosed,  from  his  den ; 


1 Scotch  for  late  and  early. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


339 


Sajang,  “ Come  and  make  thy  home  with  us  for 
life, 

Heaven-sent  preserver  of  my  child  and  wife. 

I fear  thou  ’rt  poor,  that  Hanoverian  thing 
Rewards  his  soldiers  ill.” — ‘‘  God  save  the  king ! ” 
With  hand  upon  his  heart  old  Allan  said, 

“ I wear  his  uniform,  1 eat  his  bread, 

And  whilst  I ’ve  tooth  to  bite  a cartridge,  all 
For  him  and  Britain’s  fame  I ’ll  stand  or  fall.” 

‘‘  Bravo  1 ” cried  Ronald.  “ I commend  your 
zeal,” 

Quoth  Norman,  and  I see  your  heart  is  leal , 
But  I have  pray’d  my  soul  may  never  thrive 
If  thou  sliould’st  leave  this  house  of  ours  alive. 
Nor  shalt  thou  ; in  this  home  protract  thy  breath 
Of  easy  life,  nor  leave  it  till  thy  death.” 


The  following  morn  arose  serene  as  glass. 

And  red  Bennevis  shone  like  molten  brass ; 
While  sunrise  open’d  flowers  with  gentle  force, 
The  guest  and  Ronald  walk’d  in  long  discourse 
“ Words  fail  me,”  Allan  said,  “ to  thank  aright 
Your  father’s  kindness  shown  me  yesternight ; 
Yet  scarce  I ’d  wish  my  latest  days  to  spend 
A fireside  fixture  with  the  dearest  friend : 
Besides,  I ’ve  but  a fortnight’s  furlough  now, 
To  reach  Macallin  More,^  beyond  Lochawe. 


1 The  Duke  of  Argyle. 


340 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


I ’d  fain  memorialize  the  powers  that  be, 

To  deign  remembrance  of  my  wounds  and  me ; 
My  life-long  service  never  bore  the  brand 
Of  sentence- — lash — disgrace  or  reprimand. 

And  so  I Ve  written,  though  in  meagre  style, 

A long  petition  to  his  Grace  Argyle ; 

I mean  on  reaching  Innerara’s  shore, 

To  leave  it  safe  within  his  castle  door.” 

‘‘  Nay,”  Ronald  said,  ‘‘  the  letter  that  you  bear 
Entrust  it  to  no  lying  varlet’s  care  ; 

But  say  a soldier  of  King  George  demands 
Access,  to  leave  it  in  the  Duke’s  own  hands. 

But  show  me,  first,  the  epistle  to  your  chief, 

’Tis  nought,  unless  succinctly  clear  and  brief ; 
Great  men  have  no  great  patience  when  they  read 
And  long  petitions  spoil  the  cause  they  plead.” 

That  day  saw  Ronald  from  the  field  full  soon 
Return ; and  when  they  all  had  dined  at  noon. 
He  conn’d  the  old  man’s  memorial — loppM  its 
length. 

And  gave  it  style,  simplicity,  and  strength ; 

’Twas  finish’d  in  an  hour — and  in  the  next 
Transcribed  by  Allan  in  perspicuous  text. 

At  evening,  he  and  Ronald  shared  once  more 
A long  and  pleasant  walk  by  Cona’s  shore. 

“ I ’d  press  you,”  quoth  his  host — (“  I need  not  say 
How  warmly)  ever  more  with  us  to  stay ; 

But  Charles  intends,  ’tis  said,  in  these  same  parts 
To  try  the  fealty  of  our  Highland  hearts. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


341 


Tis  my  belief,  that  he  and  all  his  line 
Have — saving  to  be  hang’d — no  right  divine ; 
From  whose  mad  enterprise  can  only  flow 
To  thousands  slaughter,  and  to  myriads  woe. 

Yet  have  they  stirr'd  my  father’s  spirit  sore, 

He  flints  his  pistols — whets  his  old  claymore — 
And  longs  as  ardently  to  join  the  fray 
As  boy  to  dance  who  hears  the  bagpipe  play. 
Thougti  calm  one  day,  the  next,  disdaining  rule. 
He ’d  gore  your-red  coat  like  an  angry  bull : 

I told  him,  and  he  own’d  it  might  be  so, 

Your  tempers  never  could  in  concert  flow. 

But  ‘ Mark,’  he  added,  ‘ Ronald  ! from  our  door 
Let  not  this  guest  depart  forlorn  and  poor ; 

Let  not  your  souls  the  niggardness  evince 
Of  lowland  pedlar,  or  of  German  prince  ; 

He  gave  you  life — then  feed  him  as  you ’d  feed 
Your  very  father  were  he  cast  in  need.’ 

He  gave — you  ’ll  And  it  by  your  bed  to-night, 

A leathern  purse  of  crowns,  all  sterling  bright : 
You  see  I do  you  kindness  not  by  stealth. 

My  wife — no  advocate  of  squandering  wealth — 
Vows  that  it  would  be  parricide,  or  worse, 

Should  we  neglect  you — here ’s  a silken  purse. 
Some  golden  pieces  through  the  network  shine, 
’Tis  proffer’d  to  you  from  her  heart  and  mine. 
But  come  ! no  foolish  delicacy,  no  ! 

We  own,  but  cannot  cancel  what  we  owe — 

This  sum  shall  duly  reach  you  once  a year.” 
Poor  Allan’s  furrow’d  face  and  flowing  tear 


842 


THE  PILGRIM  OP  GLENCOE. 


Confessed  sensations  which  he  could  not  speak. 
Old  Norman  bade  him  farewell  kindly  meek. 

At  morn,  the  smiling  dame  rejoiced  to  pack 
With  viands  full  the  old  soldier’s  haversack. 

He  fear’d  not  hungry  grass  ^ with  such  a load, 
And  Ronald  saw  him  miles  upon  his  road. 

A march  of  three  days  brought  him  to  Loch- 
fyne. 

Argyle,  struck  with  his  manly  look  benign, 

And  feeling  interest  in  the  veteran’s  lot. 

Created  him  a sergeant  on  the  spot — 

An  invalid,  to  serve  not — but  with  pay 
(A  mighty  sum  to  him),  twelve-pence  a day. 

“ But  have  you  heard  not,”  said  Macallin  More, 
Charles  Stuart ’s  landed  on  Eriska’s  shore. 

And  Jacobites  are  arming  ? ” — “ What ! indeed ! 
Arrived ! then  I 'm  no  more  an  invalid  ; 

]My  new-got  halbert  I must  straight  employ 
In  battle.” — “ As  you  please,  old  gallant  boy  : 
Your  gray  hairs  well  might  plead  excuse,  ’tis 
true. 

But  now’s  the  time  we  want  such  men  as  you.” 
In  brief,  at  Innerara  Allen  staid, 

And  join’d  the  banners  of  Argyle’s  brigade. 
Meanwhile,  the  old  choleric  shepherd  of  Glencoe 
Spurn’d  all  advice,  and  girt  himself  to  go. 

1 When  the  hospitable  Highlanders  load  a parting  guest 
with  provisions,  they  tell  him  he  will  need  them,  as  he  has 
to  go  over  a great  deal  of  hungry  grass. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCO^;. 


843 


What  was ’t  to  him  that  foes  would  poind  their 
fold, 

Their  lease,  their  very  beds  beneath  them  sold ! 
And  firmly  to  his  text  he  would  have  kept, 
Though  Ronald  argued  and  his  daughter  wept. 
But  ’midst  the  impotence  of  tears  and  prayer. 
Chance  snatch’d  them  from  proscription  and  de- 
spair. 

Old  Norman’s  blood  was  headward  wont  to  mount 
Too  rapid  from  his  heart’s  impetuous  fount ; 

And  one  day,  whilst  the  German  rats  he  cursed, 
An  artery  in  his  wise  sensorium  burst. 

The  lancet  saved  him  : but  how  changed,  alas. 
From  him  who  fought  at  Killiecrankie’s  pass  I 
Tame  as  a spaniel,  timid  as  a child. 

He  mutter’d  incoherent  words  and  smiled ; 

He  wept  at  kindness,  roll’d  a vacant  eye. 

And  laugh’d  full  often  when  he  meant  to  cry. 
Poor  man ! whilst  in  this  lamentable  state, 

Came  Allan  back  one  morning  to  his  gate. 

Hale  and  unburden’d  by  the  woes  of  eild. 

And  fresh  with  credit  from  Culloden’s  field. 

’Twas  fear’d  at  first,  the  sight  of  him  might  touch 
The  old  Macdonald’s  morbid  mind  too  much  ; 

But  no ! though  Norman  knew  him  and  disclosed 
Ev’n  rallying  memory,  he  was  still  composed ; 
Ask’d  all  particulars  of  the  fatal  fight, 

And  only  heaved  a sigh  for  Charles’s  flight : 

Then  said,  with  but  one  moment’s  pride  of  air. 

It  might  not  have  been  so  had  I been  there  ! 


844 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


Few  days  elasped  till  he  reposed  beneath 
His  gray  cairn,  on  the  wild  and  lonely  heath ; 
Son,  friends,  and  kindred  of  his  dust  took  leave, 
And  Allan,  with  the  crape  bound  round  his 
sleeve. 

Old  Allan  now  hung  up  his  sergeant’s  sword, 
And  sat,  a guest  for  life,  at  Ronald’s  board. 

He  waked  no  longer  at  the  barrack’s  drum. 

Yet  still  you ’d  see,  when  peep  of  day  was  come, 
Th’  erect  tall  red-coat,  walking  pastures  round, 
Or  delving  with  his  spade  the  garden  ground. 

Of  cheerful  temper,  habits  strict  and  sage. 

He  reach’d,  enjoy’d,  a patriarchal  age — 

Loved  to  the  last  by  the  Macdonalds.  Near 
Their  house,  his  stone  was  placed  with  many  a 
tear ; 

And  Ronald’s  self,  in  stoic  virtue  brave. 

Scorn’d  not  to  weep  at  Allan  Campbell’s  grave. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


34/) 


‘ The  Pilgrim  of  Glencoe,”  dedicated,  with  other  poems, 
to  Dr.  Beattie,  was  first  published  in  the  year  1842.  Its 
reception  by  the  public  was  far  from  cheering.  No  longer, 
as  of  old,  lavish  and  enthusiastic  praises  were  heard  on  all 
sides,  or  favourable  critiques  read  on  every  hand,  but  a cold 
apathy  seemed  to  reign,  even  amongst  the  reviewers,  upon 
the  subject.  Campbell  himself  felt  and  admitted  that  the 
merits  of  the  production  were  not  of  the  first  order;  yet  he 
was  annoyed  and  grieved  at  the  indifference  manifested. 

The  affair  of  Glencoe,  and  the  facts  of  the  case  concerning 
which  so  much,  at  different  times,  has  been  said  and  written, 
are  referred  to  in  Mr.  Campbell’s  own  note,  and  are  drawn 
into  a narrow  focus  in  an  anonymous  pamphlet  entitled  “ The 
Massacre  of  Glencoe : being  a ti'ue  Narrative  of  the  barbarous 
Murther  of  the  Glencoe-men,  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland^  by 
way  of  Military  Execution^  on  die  l^ih  Feb.,  1692.  London: 
1703.”  Though  the  brochure  is  by  a concealed  writer,  yet  it 
contains  within  itself  strong  evidence  of  authenticity.  It 
sets  out  at  length  the  Commission,  under  the  Great  Seal  of 
Scotland,  for  making  inquiry  into  the  murder;  the  proceed 
ings  of  the  Parliament  of  Scotland  upon  it;  the  report  of  the 
commissioners  upon  the  inquiry,  as  laid  before  the  King  and 
Parliament;  together  with  the  address  of  the  Parliament  to 
King  William  the  Third  for  justice  upon  the  murderers,  all 
stated  to  be  faithfully  extracted  from  the  records  of  Parliament, 
and  published  for  undeceiving  those  who  have  been  imposed  upon 
by  false  accounts.  From  the  report  of  the  Lord  Chancellor 
^Marquis  of  Tweeddale)  and  his  fellow-commissioners,  after 
evidence  taken,  subscribed  at  Holyrood,  20th  June,  1693,  it 
appeared  that  the  lairds  of  Glencoe  and  Auchintriaten,  and 
their  followers,  were  out  in  the  Highland  rebellions  of  1689 
and  1690;  that  in  July,  1691,  the  Earl  of  Breadalbane  met 
the  heads  of  the  clans,  in  order  to  a cessation ; on  which 
occasion  Alexander  Macdonald,  of  Glencoe,  was  present,  and 
w ith  others  agreed  to  the  cessation ; that  at  that  time  there 


34:6 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE. 


arose  a quarrel  between  the  Earl  and  Macdonald,  concerning 
some  cows  which  the  Earl  alleged  were  stolen  from  his  men 
by  Glencoe's  men;  that  the  Earl  threatened  to  do  him  a mis- 
chief. In  the  month  of  August,  1691,  the  King’s  proclamation 
of  indemnity  and  pardon  was  published  to  all  the  Highland- 
ers, upon  condition  that  all  who  had  been  in  arms  should 
take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  between  that  date  and  the' 1st  of 
January  following.  In  compliance  with  the  proclamation, 
Glencoe  (otherwise  Alexander  Macdonald)  went,  towards  the 
end  of  December,  to  Colonel  Hill,  the  governor  of  Fort  Wil- 
liam, at  Inverlochie,  and  desired  the  Colonel  to  administer  to 
him  the  oath  of  allegiance,  that  he  might  obtain  the  benefit 
of  the  indemnity.  That  officer,  however,  not  being  the 
proper  party  for  the  purpose,  but  bearing  no  malice,  sent 
him  with  a letter  to  Ardkinlas,  to  receive  him  as  a lost  sheep ; 
and  the  Colonel  produced  Ardkinlas’s  answer  to  that  letter, 
of  the  date  of  January  the  9th,  1691,  to  the  effect  that  he  had 
endeavoured  to  receive  the  great  lost  sheep  Glencoe,  and  that 
Glencoe  had  undertaken  to  bring  in  all  his  friends  and  follow- 
ers, as  the  Privy  Council  should  order;  that  Glencoe,  on 
obtaining  the  Colonel’s  letter  to  Ardkinlas,  hasted  to  Inverary 
with  all  speed,  notwithstanding  bad  way  and  weather;  that 
■ he  presented  himself  before  Sir  Colin  Campbell,  sheriff-depute 
of  Argyle,  about  the  beginning  of  January,  1692,  and  was  there 
three  days'  before  Ardkinlas  could  get  thither,  because  of  bad 
weather;  and  that  Glencoe  said  to  him  that  he  had  not  come 
sooner,  because  he  was  hindered  by  the  storm ; that  Ardkinlas 
declined  to  administer  the  oath  of  allegiance,  because  the  last 
i’ay  of  December,  the  time  appointed  for  taking  it,  was  past. 
Glencoe  begged,  with  tears,  that  he  might  be  admitted  to  take 
it,  and  promised  to  bring  in  all  his  people,  within  a short  time, 
to  do  the  like ; upon  which  the  oath  of  allegiance  was  admi- 
nistered, and  a certificate  of  the  fact  duly  forwarded  to  Edin- 
burgh, and  was  produced  before  the  Clerk  of  the  Council, 
but  rolled  and  scored^  yet  not  so  delete  but  that  the  certificate 
and  its  purport  could  be  read.  After  Glencoe  had  taken  the 
oath,  he  went  home  to  his  own  house,  and  lived  in  his  family 
some  days  quietly,  and  calling  his  people  together,  told  them 
the  course  he  had  adopted,  and  desired  them  to  live  peaceably 


THE  PILGRIM  OP  GLENCOE. 


347 


under  King  William’s  government.  Six  weeks  afterwards, 
sixscore  soldiers  came  to  Glencoe,  and  showing  the  orders 
of  Colonel  Hill,  were  billeted  in  the  country,  and  had  free 
entertainment  and  lived  familiarly  with  the  people  until  the 
13th  of  February,  on  which  day,  about  four  in  the  morning^ 
a party  of  the  soldiers  having  called  in  a friendly  manner 
and  gained  access  into  Glencoe’s  house,  they  shot  him  dead, 
and  having  killed  another  man,  and  wounded  another,  and 
stripped  Glencoe’s  wife  naked,  and  drawn  the  rings  off  her 
finger  with  their  teeth,  they  proceeded  to  other  houses,  killing 
and  slaying  young  and  old  to  the  number  of  thirty-two,  burn 
ing  houses,  bams,  and  goods,  and  canying  away  as  spoil 
above  a thousand  head  of  cattle.  Some  days  after  the 
slaughter  was  over,  there  arrived  a messenger  from  Earl 
Breadalbane’s  steward  to  the  deceased  Glencoe’s  sons,  who 
had  escaped,  and  offered,  if  they  would  declare  under  their 
hands  that  the  Earl  was  clear  of  the  slaughter,  they  might  be 
assured  of  his  kindness  for  procuring  their  remission  and 
restitution.  The  proceedings  above  stated  were  sought  to 
be  defended  on  the  ground  of  waiTant  from  the  King  to 
march  the  troops  against  those  rebels  who  had  not  taken  the 
benefit  of  the  Indemnification,  and  to  destroy  them  by  fire 
and  siword.  But  Secretaiy  Stair,  who  sent  down  the  royal 
instructions  to  Sir  Thomas  Livingstone,  wrote  strongly  against 
Glencoe,  saying,  “ My  Lord  Argylle  tells  me  that  Glencoe 
hath  not  taken  the  oath,  at  which  I rejoice.  I entreat  the 
thieving  tribe  of  Glencoe  may  be  rooted  out  to  purpose.'"'  I'he 
commission  gave  it  as  their  opinion  upon  the  whole  matter 
fiiat  it  was  a great  wrong  that  Glencoe’s  case  as  to  taking  the 
oath  of  allegiance,  the  certificate  thereupon.  Colonel  Hill’s 
letter  to  Ardkinlas,  and  Ardkinlas’s  letter  to  Sir  Colin  Camp- 
bell, were  not  presented  to  the  Privy  Council  when  sent  to 
Edinburgh,  and  that  those  who  advised  the  not  presenting 
thereof  were  in  the  wrong,  and  seem  to  have  had  a malicious 
design  against  Glencoe:  That  the  obliteration  of  the  certifi- 
cate was  wrong:  That  it  was  known  in  London,  and  particu- 
larly to  the  Master  of  Stair,  in  the  month  of  January,  1092. 
That  Glencoe  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance,  though  after 
the  prescribed  day:  That  there  was  nothing  in  the  king’s 


348 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE, 


instructions  to  warrant  the  committing  of  the  slaughter:  Thai 
the  slaughter  was  a barbarous  murder.  This  report  was  duly 
laid  before  the  Parliament,  and  on  the  question  being  put  to 
the  House  if  the  execution  of  the  Glencoe  men  in  February, 
1692,  in  the  manner  represented,  was  a murder  or  not,  it  was 
carried  in  the  affirmative.  Other  resolutions  were  subse- 
quently passed,  and  on  the  10th  of  July  an  address  upon  the 
subject  was  voted  to  the  King,  which  contained,  amongst 
other  things,  the  following  passage: — “ We  humbly  beg  that, 
considering  that  the  Master  of  Stair’s  excess,  in  his  letters 
against  the  Glencoe  men,  has  been  the  original  cause  of  this 
unhappy  business,  and  hath  given  occasion  in  a gi*eat  measure 
to  so  extraordinary  an  execution  by  the  warm  directions  he 
gives  about  doing  it  by  surprise,  and  considering  the  high 
station  and  trust  he  is  in,  and  that  he  is  absent,  we  do  there- 
fore beg  that  your  Majesty  will  give  such  orders  about  him 
for  vindication  of  your  Government  as  you  in  your  royal 
wisdom  shall  think  fit.  And,  likewise,  considering  that  the 
actors  have  barbarously  killed  men  under  trust,  we  humbly 
desire  your  J^Iajesty  would  be  pleased  to  send  the  actors 
home,  and  to  give  orders  to  your  advocate  to  prosecute  them 
according  to  law.”  To  this  follows  an  appeal  to  the  royal 
consideration  on  behalf  of  the  Glencoe  men  who  had  escaped 
the  slaughter,  and  were  reduced  to  great  distress  by  the  de- 
predations committed  upon  them. 

It  seems  there  never  was  any  prosecution  against  any  of 
the  parties  implicated  in  the  transaction ; on  the  contrary,  by 
the  advice  of  some  employed  about  the  King,  several  of  the 
parties  were  preferred,  and  the  whole  matter  hushed  up,  and 
by  the  influence  of  some  persons  the  report  above  quoted  was 
suppressed  in  King  William’s  time,  though  his  Majesty’s 
honour  required  that  all  the  facts  should  be  published. 


349 


N4P0LE0i^  AND  THE  BEITISH  SAILOKi 

I LOVE  contemplating — apart 
From  all  his  homicidal  glorj, 

The  traits  that  soften  to  our  heart 
Napoleon’s  story ! 

’Twas  when  his  banners  at  Boulogne 
Arm’d  in  our  island  every  freeman, 

His  navy  chanced  to  capture  one 
Poor  British  seaman. 

They  suffer’d  him — I know  not  how, 

Unprison’d  on  the  shore  to  roam ; 

And  aye  was  bent  his  longing  brow 
On  England’s  home. 


His  eye,  methinks,  pursued  the  flight 
Of  birds  to  Britain  half-v/ay  over; 

With  envy  they  could  reach  the  white. 

Dear  cliffs  of  Dover. 

1 This  anecdote  has  been  published  in  several  public  jour- 
nals, both  French  and  British.  My  belief  in  its  authenticity 
was  confirmed  by  an  Englishman  long  resident  at  Boulogne^ 
lately  telling  me,  that  he  remembered  the  circumstance  to 
have  been  generally  talked  of  in  the  place. 


350  NAPOLEON  AND  TiiE  BRITISH  SAILOR. 

A stormy  midnight  watch,  he  thought, 

Than  this  sojourn  would  have  been  dearer. 
If  but  the  storm  his  vessel  brought 
To  England  nearer. 


At  last,  when  care  had  banish’d  sleep, 

He  saw  one  morning — dreaming — doating, 

An  empty  hogshead  from  the  deep 
Come  shoreward  floating ; 

He  hid  it  in  a cave,  and  wrought 

The  live-long  day  laborious  ; lurking 

Until  he  launch’d  a tiny  boat 
By  mighty  working. 

Heaven  help  us ! ’twas  a thing  beyond 
Description  wretched ; such  a wherry 

Perhaps  ne’er  ventured  on  a pond, 

Or  cross’d  a ferry. 

For  ploughing  in  the  salt-sea  fleld, 

It  would  have  made  the  boldest  shudder ; 

Untarr’d,  uncompass’d,  and  unkeel’d, 

No  sail — no  rudder. 

From  neighb’ring  woods  he  interlaced 
Ills  sorry  skiff  with  wattled  willows ; 

And  thus  equipp’d  he  would  have  pass’d 
The  foaming  billows — 


NAPOLEON  AND  THE  BRITISH  SAILOR.  351 

But  Frenchmen  caught  him  on  the  beach, 

His  little  Argo  sorely  jeering : 

Till  tidings  of  him  chanced  to  reach 
Napoleon’s  hearing. 

With  folded  arms  Napoleon  stood, 

Serene  alike  in  peace  and  danger ; 

And,  in  his  wonted  attitude. 

Address’d  the  stranger  : — 

“ Rash  man,  that  would’st  yon  Channel  pass 
On  twigs  and  staves  so  rudely  fashion’d ; 

Thy  heart  with  some  sweet  British  lass 
Must  be  impassion’d.” 

“ I have  no  sweetheart,”  said  the  lad  ; 

‘‘  But — absent  long  from  one  another — 

Great  was  the  longing  that  I had 
To  see  my  mother  ” 

‘‘  And  so  thou  shalt,”  Napoleon  said, 

‘‘Ye  ’ve  both  my  favour  fairly  won ; 

A noble  mother  must  have  bred 
So  brave  a son.” 

He  gave  the  tar  a piece  of  gold. 

And,  with  a flag  of  truce,  commanded 

He  should  be  shipp’d  to  England  Old, 

And  safely  landed. 


552 


BENLOMOND. 


Our  sailor  oft  could  scantily  shift 
To  find  a dinner,  plain  and  hearty ; 
But  never  changed  the  coin  and  gift 
Of  Bonaparte. 


BENLOMOND. 

Had  ST  thou  a genius  on  thy  peak, 

What  tales,  white-headed  Ben, 

Could’st  thou  of  ancient  ages  speak. 
That  mock  tlf  historian’s  pen  ! 

Thy  long  duration  makes  our  lives 
Seem  but  so  many  hours  ; 

And  likens,  to  the  bees’  frail  hives. 

Our  most  stupendous  towers. 

* 

Temples  and  towers  thou  ’st  seen  begun, 
New  creeds,  new  conquerors’  sway ; 

And,  like  their  shadows  in  the  sun, 

Hast  seen  them  swept  away. 

Thy  steadfast  summit,  heaven-allied 
(Unlike  life’s  little  span). 

Looks  down,  a Mentor  on  the  pride 
Of  perishable  man. 


353 


T]1E  CHILD  AJSTD  HDH). 


I WISH  I had  preserved  a copy  of  the  Wiesbaden  newspaper 
In  which  this  anecdote  of  the  “ Child  and  Hind  ” is  recorded; 
but  I have  unfortunately  lost  it.  The  story,  however,  is  a 
matter  of  fact;  it  took  place  in  1838:  every  circumstance 
mentioned  in  the  following  ballad  literally  happened.  I was 
in  Wiesbaden  eight  months  ago,  and  was  shown  the  very  tree 
under  which  the  boy  was  found  sleeping  with  a bunch  of 
flowers  in  his  little  hand.  A similar  occurrence  is  told  by  tra- 
dition, of  Queen  Genevova’s  child  being  preserved  by  being 
suckled  by  a female  deer,  when  that  Princess — an  early  Chris- 
tian— and  now  a Saint  in  the  Komish  calendar,  was  chased 
to  the  desert  by  her  heathen  enemies.  The  spot  assigned  to 
the  traditionary  event  is  not  a hundred  miles  from  Wiesbaden, 
where  a chapel  still  stands  to  her  memory. 

I could  not  ascertain  whether  the  Hind  that  watched  my 
hero  “Wilhelm,”  suckled  him  or  not;  but  it  was  generally 
believed  that  she  had  no  milk  to  give  him,  and  that  the  boy 
must  have  been  for  two  days  and  a half  entirely  without  food, 
unless  it  might  be  grass  or  leaves.  If  this  was  the  case,  the 
circumstance  of  the  Wiesbaden  deer  watching  the  child,  was 
a still  more  wonderful  token  of  instinctive  fondness  than  that 
of  the  deer  in  the  Genevova  tradition,  who  was  naturally 
anxious  to  be  relieved  of  her  milk. 

Come,  maids  and  matrons,  to  caress 
Wiesbaden’s  gentle  hind ; 

And,  smilling,  deck  its  glossy  neck 
With  forest  flowers  entwined. 

Your  forest  flowers  are  fair  to  show, 

And  landscapes  to  enjoy ; 

23 


354 


THE  CHILD  AND  HIND. 


But  fairer  is  your  friendly  doe 
That  watch’d  the  sleeping  hoy. 

’Twas  after  church— on  Ascension  day — 

When  organs  ceased  to  sound, 

Wiesbaden’s  people  crowded  gay 
The  deer-park’s  pleasant  ground. 

There,  where  Elysian  meadows  smile, 

And  noble  trees  upshoot. 

The  wild  thyme  and  the  camomile 
Smell  sweetly  at  their  root ; 

The  aspen  quivers  nervously. 

The  oak  stands  stilly  bold — 

And  climbing  bindweed  hangs  on  high 
His  bells  of  beaten  gold.^ 

Nor  stops  the  eye  till  mountains  shine 
That  bound  a spacious  view. 

Beyond  the  lordly,  lovely  Bhine, 

In  visionary  blue. 

There,  monuments  of  ages  dark 
Awaken  thoughts  sublime; 

Till,  swifter  than  the  steaming  bark. 

We  mount  the  stream  of  time. 

1 There  is  only  one  kind  of  bindweed  that  is  yellow,  and 
fiiat  is  the  flower  here  mentioned,  the  Paniculatus  Convol- 
vulus. 


THE  CHILD  AND  HIND. 


355 


TLe  ivy  there  old  castles  shades 
That  speak  traditions  high 
Of  minstrels — tournaments — crusades, 

A.nd  mail-clad  chivalry. 

Here  came  a twelve  years’  married  pair — 
And  with  them  wander’d  free 
Seven  sons  and  daughters,  blooming  fair, 
A gladsome  sight  to  see. 

Their  Wilhelm,  little  innocent. 

The  youngest  of  the  seven, 

Was  beautiful  as  painters  paint 
The  cherubim  of  Heaven. 

By  turns  he  gave  his  hand,  so  dear. 

To  parent,  sister,  brother ; 

And  each,  that  he  was  safe  and  near. 
Confided  in  the  other. 

But  Wilhelm  loved  the  field-flowers  bright, 
With  love  beyond  all  measure  ; 

And  cull’d  them  with  as  keen  delight 
As  misers  gather  treasure. 

Unnoticed,  he  contrived  to  glide 
Adown  a greenwood  alley, 

By  lilies  lured — that  grew  beside 
A streamlet  in  the  valley  ; 


856 


THE  CHILD  AND  HIND. 


And  there,  where  under  beech  and  birch 
The  rivulet  meander’d, 

He  stray’d,  till  neither  shout  nor  search 
Could  track  where  he  had  wander’d. 

Still  louder,  with  increasing  dread, 

They  call’d  his  darling  name ; 

But  ’twas  like  speaking  to  the  dead — 
An  echo  only  came. 

Hours  pass’d  till  evening’s  beetle  roams, 
And  blackbird’s  songs  begin  ; 

Then  all  went  back  to  happy  homes, 

Save  Wilhelm’s  kith  and  kin. 

The  night  came  on — all  others  slept 
Their  cares  away  till  morn  ; 

But  sleepless,  all  night  watch’d  and  wept 
That  family  forlorn. 

Betimes  the  town-crier  had  been  sent 
With  loud  bell,  up  and  down  ; 

And  told  th’  afflicting  accident 
Throughout  Wiesbaden’s  town : 

The  father,  too,  ere  morning  smiled. 

Had  all  his  wealth  un coffer’d  ; 

And  to  the  wight  would  bring  his  child, 
A thousand  crowns  had  offer’d. 


THE  CHILD  AND  HIND. 


357 


Dear  fnends,  who  would  have  blush’d  to  take 
That  guerdon  from  his  hand, 

Soon  join’d  in  groups — ^for  pity’s  sake, 

The  child-explorin"  band. 

The  news  reach’d  Nassau’s  Duke : ere  earth 
Was  gladden’d  by  the  lark. 

He  sent  a hundred  soldiers  forth 
To  ransack  all  his  parx. 

Their  side-arms  glitter’d  through  the  wood, 
With  bugle-horns  to  sound ; 

Would  that  on  errand  half  so  good 
The  soldier  oft  were  found  ! 

But  though  they  roused  up  beast  and  bird 
From  many  a nest  and  den. 

No  signal  of  success  was  heard 
From  all  the  hundred  men. 

A second  morning’s  light  expands, 

Unfound  the  infant  fair ; 

And  Wilhelm’s  household  wring  their  hands, 
Abandon’d  to  despair. 

But,  haply,  a poor  artisan 
Search’d  ceaselessly,  till  he 
Found  safe  asleep  the  little  one 
Beneath  a beechen  tree. 


358 


THE  CHILD  AND  HIND. 


His  hand  still  grasp’d  a bunch  of  flowers  ; 

And  (true,  though  wondrous)  near, 

To  sentry  his  reposing  hours. 

There  stood  a female  deer — 

Who  dipp’d  her  horns  at  all  that  pass’d  ^ 

The  spot  where  Wilhelm  lay ; 

Till  force  was  had  to  hold  her  fast, 

And  bear  the  boy  away. 

Hail ! sacred  love  of  childhood— hail  ! 

How  sweet  it  is  to  trace 
Thine  instinct  in  Creation’s  scale, 

Ev’n  ’neath  the  human  race. 

To  this  poor  wanderer  of  the  wild 
Speech,  reason  were  unknown — 

And  yet  she  watch’d  a sleeping  child 
As  if  it  were  her  own  ; 

And  thou,  Wiesbaden’s  artisan, 

Restorer  of  the  boy, 

Was  ever  welcomed  mortal  man 
With  such  a burst  of  joy  ? 

The  father’s  ecstasy — the  mother’s 
Hysteric  bosom’s  swell ; 

I The  female  deei  has  no  such  antlers  as  the  male,  and 
sometimes  no  horns  at  all;  but  I have  observed  many  with 
short  ones  suckling  their  fawns. 


THE  CHILD  AND  HIND. 


359 


The  sisters*  sobs — the  shout  of  brothers, 

I have  not  power  to  tell. 

The  working  man,  with  shoulders  broad. 

Took  blithely  to  his  wife 

The  thousand  crowns ; a pleasant  load, 

That  made  him  rich  for  life. 

And  Nassau’s  Duke  the  favourite  took 
Into  his  deer-park’s  centre. 

To  share  a field  with  other  pets 
Where  deer-slayer  cannot  enter. 

There,  whilst  thou  cropp’st  thy  fiowery  food, 
Each  hand  shall  pat  thee  kind ; 

And  man  shall  never  spill  thy  blood — 
Wiesbaden’s  gentle  hind. 


360 


THE  JILTED  NYMPH. 

A SONG, 

ro  THE  SCOTCH  TUNE  OF  ‘‘  WOO’d  AND  MARRIED 
AND  a'.’’ 

I ’m  jilted,  forsaken,  outwitted ; 

Yet  think  not  I ’ll  whimper  or  brawl — 

The  lass  is  alone  to  be  pitied 

Who  ne’er  has  been  courted  at  all : 

Never  by  great  or  small, 

Woo’d  or  jilted  at  all ; 

Oh,  how  unhappy ’s  the  lass 
Who  has  never  been  courted  at  all ! 

My  brother  call’d  out  the  dear  faithless, 

In  fits  I was  ready  to  fall. 

Till  I found  a policeman  who,  scatheless. 

Swore  them  both  to  the  peace  at  Guildhall ; 
Seized  them,  seconds  and  all — 

Pistols,  powder  and  ball ; 

I wish’d  him  to  die  my  devoted. 

But  not  in  a duel  to  sprawl. 

What  though  at  my  heart  he  has  tilted, 

What  though  I have  met  with  a fall  ? 


THE  JILTED  NYMPH. 


361 


Better  be  courted  and  jilted, 

Than  never  be  courted  at  all. 

Woo’d  and  jilted^and  all, 

Still  I will  dance  at  the  ball ; 

And  waltz  and  quadrille 
With  light  heart  and  heel, 

With  proper  joung  men,  and  tall. 

But  lately  I Ve  met  with  a suitor, 

Whose  heart  I have  gotten  in  thrall, 

And  I hope  soon  to  tell  you  in  future 
That  I ’m  woo’d,  and  married  and  all : 

Woo’d  and  married  and  all. 

What  greater  bliss  can  befall  ? 

And  you  all  shall  partake  of  my  bridal  cake. 
When  I ’m  woo’d  and  married,  and  all. 


362 


ON  GETTING  HOME 

THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A FEMALE  CHHJ) 

SIX  YEARS  OLD. 

PAINTED  BY  EUGENIO  LATILLA. 

Type  of  the  Cherubim  above, 

Come,  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love ! 

Smile  from  my  wall,  dear  roguish  sprite, 

By  sunshine  and  by  candle-light ; 

For  both  look  sweetly  on  thy  traits : 

Or,  were  the  Lady  Moon  to  gaze. 

She ’d  welcome  thee  with  lustre  bland, 

Like  some  young  fay  from  Fairyland. 

Cast  in  simplicity’s  own  mould. 

How  canst  thou  be  so  manifold 
In  sportively  distracting  charms  ? 

Thy  lips — thine  eyes — thy  little  arms 
That  wrapt  thy  shoulders  and  thy  head. 

In  homeliest  shawl  of  netted  thread, 

Brown  woollen  net-work ; yet  it  seeks 
Accordance  with  thy  lovely  cheeks. 

And  more  becomes  thy  beauty’s  bloom 
Than  any  shawl  from  Cashmere’s  loom. 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A FEMALE  CHILD.  363 

Thou  hast  not,  to  adorn  thee,  girl, 

Flower,  link  of  gold,  or  gem  or  pearl — 

I would  not  let  a ruby  speck 
The  peeping  whiteness  of  thy  neck : 

Thou  need’st  no  casket,  witching  elf. 

No  gawd — thy  toilet  is  thyself ; 

Not  ev’n  a rose-bud  from  the  bower, 

Thyself  a magnet — gem  and  flower. 

My  arch  and  playful  little  creature. 

Thou  hast  a mind  in  every  feature  ; 

Thy  brow,  with  its  disparted  locks. 

Speaks  language  that  translation  mocks ; 

Thy  lucid  eyes  so  beam  with  soul. 

They  on  the  canvas  seem  to  roll — 

Instructing  both  my  head  and  heart 
To  idolize  the  painter’s  art. 

He  marshals  minds  to  Beauty’s  feast — 

He  is  Humanity’s  high  priest 

Who  proves,  by  heavenly  forms  on  earth, 

How  much  this  world  of  ours  is  worth. 

Inspire  me,  child,  with  visions  fair ! 

For  children,  in  Creation,  are 

The  only  things  that  could  be  given 

Back,  and  alive — unchanged — to  Heaven. 


364 


THE  PARROT. 

A DOMESTIC  ANECDOTE. 

The  followiDg  incident,  so  strongly  illustrating  the  powei 
of  memory  and  association  in  the  lower  animals,  is  not  a 
fiction.  I heard  it  many  years  ago  in  the  Island  of  Mull, 
^om  the  family  to  whom  the  bird  belonged. 


The  deep  affections  of  the  breast, 

That  Heaven  to  living  things  imparts, 
Are  not  exclusively  possess’d 
By  human  hearts. 

A parrot,  from  the  Spanish  Main, 

Full  young,  and  early  caged,  came  o’er 
With  bright  wings,  to  the  bleak  domain 
Of  MuUa’s  shore. 

To  spicy  groves  where  he  had  won 
His  plumage  of  resplendent  hue. 

His  native  fruits,  and  skies,  and  sun, 

He  bade  adieu. 

For  these  he  changed  the  smoke  of  turf, 
A heathery  land  and  misty  sky. 

And  turn’d  on  rocks  and  raging  surf 
His  golden  eye. 


SONG  OF  THE  COLONISTS. 


365 


But,  petted,  in  our  climate  cold 

He  lived  and  chatter’d  many  a day : 

Until  with  age,  from  green  and  gold 
His  wings  grew  gray. 

At  last,  when  blind  and  seeming  dumb, 

He  scolded,  laugh’d,  and  spoke  no  more, 

A Spanish  stranger  chanced  to  come 
To  Mulla’s  shore ; 

He  hail’d  the  bird  in  Spanish  speech. 

The  bird  in  Spanish  speech  replied. 

Flapp’d  round  his  cage  with  joyous  screech, 
Dropt  down,  and  died. 


SONG  OF  THE  COLONISTS  DEPARTING 
FOR  NEW  ZEALAND. 

Steer,  helmsman,  till  you  steer  our  way, 

By  stars  beyond  the  line  ; 

We  go  to  found  a realm,  one  day. 

Like  England’s  self  to  shine. 

CHORUS. 

Cheer  up — cheer  up — our  course  we  ’ll  keep, 
With  dauntless  heart  and  hand ; 

And  when  we ’ve  plough’d  the  stormy  deep. 
We’ll  plough  a smiling  land; — 


366 


SONG  OF  THE  COLONISTS. 


A land,  where  beauties  importune 
The  Briton  to  its  bowers, 

To  sow  but  plenteous  seeds,  and  prune 
Luxuriant  fruits  and  flowers. 

Chorus. — Cheer  up — cheer  up,  &c. 

There,  tracts  uncheer’d  by  human  words, 
Seclusion’s  wildest  holds, 

Shall  hear  the  lowing  of  our  herds. 

And  tinkling  of  our  folds. 

Chorus. — Cheer  up — cheer  up,  &c. 

Like  rubies  set  in  gold,  shall  blush 
Our  vineyards  girt  with  corn ; 

And  wine,  and  oil,  and  gladness  gush 
From  Amalthea’s  horn. 

Chorus. — Cheer  up — cheer  up,  &c. 

Britannia’s  pride  is  in  our  hearts. 

Her  blood  is  in  our  veins — 

We  ’ll  girdle  earth  with  British  arts. 

Like  Ariel’s  magic  chains. 

CHORUS. 

Cheer  up — cheer  up — our  course  we  ’ll  keep 
With  dauntless  heart  and  hand ; 

And  when  we ’ve  plough’d  the  stormy  deep, 
W e ’ll  plough  a smiling  land. 


367 


MOONLIGHT. 

The  kiss  that  would  make  a maid’s  cheek  flush 
Wroth,  as  if  kissing  were  a sin 
Amidst  the  Argus  eyes  and  din 
And  tell-tale  glare  of  noon, 

Brings  but  a murmur  and  a blush, 

Beneath  the  modest  moon. 

Ye  days,  gone — never  to  come  back. 

When  love  return’d  entranced  me  so, 

That  still  its  pictures  move  and  glow 
In  the  dark  chamber  of  my  heart ; 

Leave  not  my  memory’s  future  track — 

I will  not  let  you  part. 

'Twas  moonlight,  when  my  earliest  love 
First  on  my  bosom  dropt  her  head ; 

A moment  then  concentrated 

The  bliss  of  years,  as  if  the  spheres 
Their  course  had  faster  driven, 

And  carried,  Enoch-like  above, 

A living  man  to  Heaven. 


368 


MOONLIGHT. 


'Tis  by  the  rolling  moon  we  measure 
The  date  between  our  nuptial  night 
And  that  blest  hour  which  brings  to  light 
The  pledge  of  faith — the  fruit  of  bliss ; 

When  we  impress  upon  the  treasure 
A father’s  earliest  kiss. 

The  Moon ’s  the  Earth’s  enamour’d  bride  ; 

True  to  him  in  her  very  changes, 

To  other  stars  she  never  ranges : 

Though,  cross’d  by  him,  sometimes  she  dips 

Her  light,  in  short  offended  pride. 

And  faints  to  an  eclipse. 

The  fairies  revel  by  her  sheen ; 

’Tis  only  when  the  Moon ’s  above 
The  fire-fly  kindles  into  love. 

And  flashes  light  to  show  it : 

The  nightingale  salutes  her  Queen 
Of  Heaven,  her  heav’nly  poet. 

Then  ye  that  love — by  moonlight  gloom 
Meet  at  my  grave,  and  plight  regard. 

Oh  ! could  I be  the  Orphean  bard 
Of  whom  it  is  reported, 

That  nightingales  sung  o’er  his  tomb, 

Whilst  lovers  came  and  courted. 


369 


SONG  ON  OUR  QUEEN. 

SET  TO  MUSIC  BY  CHARLES  NEATE,  ESQ. 

Victoria’s  sceptre  o’er  the  deep 

Has  touch’d,  and  broken  slavery’s  chain  ; 
Yet,  strange  magician  ! she  enslaves 
Our  hearts  within  her  own  domain. 

Her  spirit  is  devout,  and  burns 
With  thoughts  averse  to  bigotry; 

Yet  she  herself,  the  idol,  turns 
Our  thoughts  into  idolatry. 


24 


370 


CORA  LINN,  OR  THE  FALLS  OF  THE 
CLYDE. 

WRITTEN  ON  REVISITING  IT  IN  1017. 

The  time  I saw  thee,  Cora,  last, 

’Twas  with  congenial  friends ; 

And  calmer  hours  of  pleasure  past — 

My  memory  seldom  sends. 

It  was  as  sweet  an  Autumn  day 
As  ever  shone  on  Clyde, 

And  Lanark’s  orchards  all  the  way 
Put  forth  their  golden  pride ; 

Ev’n  hedges,  busk’d  in  bravery, 

Look’d  rich  that  sunny  morn  ; 

The  scarlet  hip  and  blackberry 
So  prank’d  September  s thorn. 

In  Cora’s  glen  the  calm  how  deep ! 

That  trees  on  loftiest  hill 

Like  statues  stood,  or  things  asleep, 

All  motionless  and  stiU. 


CORA  LINN, 


371 


The  torrent  spoke,  as  if  his  noise 
Bade  earth  be  quiet  round, 

And  give  his  loud  and  lonely  voice 
A more  commanding  sound. 

His  foam,  beneath  the  yellow  light 
Of  noon,  came  down  like  one 
Continuous  sheet  of  jaspers  bright, 
Broad  rolling  by  the  sun. 

Dear  Linn  ! let  loftier  falling  floods 
Have  prouder  names  than  thine  ; 
And  king  of  all,  enthroned  in  woods. 
Let  Niagara  shine. 


Barbarian,  let  him  shake  his  coasts 
With  reeking  thunders  far. 
Extended  like  th’  array  of  hosts 
In  broad,  embattled  war  ! 

His  voice  appalls  the  wilderness  : 
Approaching  thine,  we  feel 
A solemn,  deep  melodiousness, 
That  needs  no  louder  peal. 

More  fury  would  but  disenchant 
Thy  dream-inspiring  din 
Be  thou  the  Scottish  Muse’s  haunt. 
Romantic  Cora  Linn. 


372 


CHAUCER  AND  WINDSOR. 

Long  slialt  thou  flourish,  Windsor  ! bodying  forth 
Chivalric  times,  and  long  shall  live  around 
Thy  Castle — the  old  oaks  of  British  birth. 

Whose  gnarled  roots,  tenacious  and  profound. 

As  with  a lion’s  talons  grasp  the  ground. 

But  should  thy  towers  in  ivied  ruin  rot, 

There ’s  one,  thine  inmate  once,  whose  strain 
renown’d 

Would  interdict  thy  name  to  be  forgot ; 

For  Chaucer  loved  thy  bowers  and  trode  this 
very  spot. 

Chaucer ! our  Helicon’s  first  fountain-stream. 

Our  morning  star  of  song — that  led  the  way 
To  welcome  the  long-after  coming  beam 
Of  Spenser’s  light  and  Shakspeare’s  perfect  day. 
Old  England’s  fathers  live  in  Chaucer’s  lay. 

As  if  they  ne’er  had  died.  He  group’d  and  drew 
Their  likeness  with  a spirit  of  life  so  gay. 

That  still  they  live  and  breathe  in  Fancy’s  view, 
Fresh  beings  fraught  with  truth’s  imperishable 
hue. 


373 


LINES 

SUGGESTED  BY  THE  STATUE  OP  ARNOLD  VON 
WINKELRIED,!  STANZ-UNDERWALDEN. 

Inspiring  and  romantic  Switzers’  land, 

Though  mark’d  with  majesty  by  Nature’s  hand, 
What  charm  ennobles  most  thy  landscape’s  face  ? 
Th’  heroic  memory  of  thy  native  race — 

Who  forced  tyrannic  hosts  to  bleed  or  flee. 

And  made  their  rocks  the  ramparts  of  the  free  ; 
Their  fastnesses  roll’d  back  th’  invading  tide 
Of  conquest,  and  their  mountains  taught  them 
pride. 

Hence  they  have  patriot  names — in  fancy’s  eye. 
Bright  as  their  glaciers  glittering  in  the  sky ; 
Patriots  who  make  the  pageantries  of  kings 
Like  shadows  seem  and  unsubstantial  things. 
Their  guiltless  glory  mocks  oblivion’s  rust. 
Imperishable,  for  their  cause  was  just. 

Heroes  of  old  ! to  whom  the  Nine  have  strung 
Their  lyres,  and  spirit-stirring  anthems  sung ; 

1 For  an  account  of  this  patriotic  Swiss  and  his  heroic 
leath  at  the  battle  of  Sempach,  see  Dr.  Beattie’s  “ Switzer- 
land Illustrated,”  vol.  ii.  pp.  111-115. 


374 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


Heroes  of  chivalry  ! whose  banners  grace 
The  aisles  of  many  a consecrated  place, 
Confess  how  few  of  you  can  match  in  fame 
The  martyr  Winkelried’s  immortal  name ! 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  NORTH 
AMERICA. 

United  States,  your  banner  wears 
Two  emblems — one  of  fame  ; 

Alas,  the  other  that  it  bears 
Reminds  us  of  your  shame. 

Ypur  standard’s  constellation  types 
White  freedom  by  its  stars ; 

But  what ’s  the  meaning  of  the  stripes  ? 
They  mean  your  negroes’  scars. 


375 


LINES  ON  MY  NEW  CHILD-SWEETHEART. 

I HOLD  it  a religious  duty 

To  love  and  worship  children’s  beauty ; 

They  Ve  least  the  taint  of  earthly  clod, 

They  ’re  freshest  from  the  hand  of  God ; 

With  heavenly  looks  they  make  us  sure 
The  heaven  that  made  them  must  be  pure. 

We  love  them  not  in  earthly  fashion, 

But  with  a beatific  passion. 

I chanced  to,  yesterday,  behold 
A maiden  child  of  beauty’s  mould  ; 

’Twas  near,  more  sacred  was  the  scene. 

The  palace  of  our  patriot  Queen. 

The  little  charmer  to  my  view 
Was  sculpture  brought  to  life  anew. 

Her  eyes  had  a poetic  glow, 

Her  pouting  mouth  was  Cupid’s  bow  : 

And  through  her  frock  I could  descry 
Her  neck  and  shoulders’  symmetry. 

’Twas  obvious  from  her  walk  and  gait 
Her  limbs  were  beautifully  straight ; 

I stopp’d  th’  enchantress,  and  was  told. 

Though  tall,  she  was  but  four  years  old. 


376 


LINES. 


Her  guide  so  grave  an  aspect  wore 
I could  not  ask  a question  more ; 

But  follow’d  her.  The  little  one 
Threw  backward  ever  and  anon 
Her  lovely  neck,  as  if  to  say, 

I know  you  love  me.  Mister  Grey 
For  by  its  instinct  childhood’s  eye 
Is  shrewd  in  physiognomy ; 

They  will  distinguish  fawning  art 
From  sterling  fondness  of  the  heart. 

And  so  she  flirted,  like  a true 
Good  woman,  till  we  bade  adieu. 

^Twas  then  I with  regret  grew  wild, 

Oh,  beauteous,  interesting  child! 

Why  ask’d  I not  thy  home  and  name  ? 
My  courage  fail’d  me — more ’s  the  shame* 
But  where  abides  this  jewel  rare  ? 

Oh,  ye  that  own  her,  tell  me  where  I 
For  sad  it  makes  my  heart  and  sore 
To  think  I ne’er  may  meet  her  more. 


877 


THE  LAUNCH  OF  A FIKST-EATE. 

WRITTEN  ON  WITNESSING  THE  SPECTACLE. 

England  hails  thee  with  emotion, 
Mightiest  child  of  naval  art, 

Heaven  resounds  thy  welcome  ! Ocean 
Takes  thee  smiling  to  his  heart. 


Giant  oaks  of  bold  expansion 
O’er  seven  hundred  acres  fell. 

All  to  build  thy  noble  mansion. 

Where  our  hearts  of  oak  shall  dwell. 

'Midst  those  trees  the  wild  deer  bounded, 
Ages  long  ere  we  were  born. 

And  our  greatrgrandfathers  sounded 
Many  a jovial  hunting-horn. 

Oaks  that  living  did  inherit 

Grandeur  from  our  earth  and  sky, 

Still  robust,  the  native  spirit 
In  your  timbers  shall  not  die. 


S78 


TO  A YOUNG  LADY. 


Ship  to  shine  in  martial  story, 

Thou  shalt  cleave  the  ocean’s  path 
Freighted  with  Britannia’s  glory 
And  the  thunders  of  her  wrath. 

Foes  shall  crowd  their  sails  and  fly  thee^ 
Threatening  havoc  to  their  deck, 
When  afar  they  first  descry  thee, 

Like  the  coming  whirlwind's  speck. 

Gallant  bark ! thy  pomp  and  beauty 
Storm  or  battle  ne’er  shall  blast, 
Whilst  our  tars  in  pride  and  duty 
Nail  thy  colours  to  the  mast. 


TO  A YOUNG  LADY, 

WHO  ASKED  ME  TO  WRITE  SOMETHING  ORIGINAL 
FOR  HER  ALBUM. 

An  original  something,  fair  maid,  you  would  win 
me 

To  write — ^but  how  shall  I begin  ? 

For  I fear  I have  nothing  original  in  me — 
Excepting  Original  Sin. 


379 


EPISTLE,  FKOM  ALGIERS, 

TO 

HORACE  SMITH. 

Dear  Horace  ! be  melted  to  tears, 

For  I’m  melting  with  heat  as  I rhyme  ; 

Though  the  name  of  the  place  is  All-jeers, 
’Tis  no  joke  to  fall  in  with  its  clime. 

With  a shaver^  from  France  who  came  o’er, 
To  an  African  inn  I ascend ; 

I am  cast  on  a barbarous  shore, 

Where  a barber  alone  is  my  friend. 

Do  you  ask  me  the  sights  and  the  news 
Of  this  wonderful  city  to  sing? 

Alas  ! my  hotel  has  its  mews. 

But  no  muse  of  the  Helicon’s  spring. 


A On  board  the  vessel  from  Marseilles  to  Algiers  I met  with 
a fellow  passenger  whom  I supposed  to  be  a physician  from 
his  dress  and  manners,  and  the  attentions  which  he  paid  me 
to  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  my  sea-sickness.  He  turned 
out  to  be  a perruquier  and  barber  in  Algeria — but  his  voca- 
tion did  not  lower  him  in  ray  estimation — for  he  continued 
his  attentions  until  he  passed  my  baggage  through  the  cus- 
toms, and  helped  me,  when  half  dead  with  exhaustion,  to  the 
best  hotel. 


380  EPISTLE  FROM  ALGIERS. 

My  windows  afford  me  the  sight 
Of  a people  all  diverse  in  hue ; 

They  are  black,  yellow,  olive,  and  white, 
Whilst  I in  my  sorrow  look  blue. 

Here  are  groups  for  the  painter  to  take, 
Whose  figures  jocosely  combine, — 

The  Arab  disguised  in  his  haik,^ 

And  the  Frenchman  disguised  in  his  wine. 

In  his  breeches  of  petticoat  size 

You  may  say,  as  the  Mussulman  goes. 

That  his  garb  is  a fair  compromise 

’Twixt  a kilt  and  a pair  of  small-clothes. 

The  Mooresses,  shrouded  in  white, 

Save  two  holes  for  their  eyes  to  give  room, 

Seem  like  corpses  in  sport  or  in  spite 

That  have  slyly  whipp’d  out  of  their  tomb. 

The  old  Jewish  dames  make  me  sick : 

If  I were  the  devil — I declare 

Such  hags  should  not  mount  a broom-stick 
In  my  service  to  ride  through  the  air. 

But  hipp’d  and  undined  as  I am, 

My  hippogriff ’s  course  I must  rein — 

For  the  pain  of  my  thirst  is  no  sham. 

Though  I ’m  bawling  aloud  for  champagne. 


1 A mantle  worn  by  the  natives. 


EPISTLE  FROM  ALGIERS. 


331 


Dinner ’s  brought ; but  their  wines  have  no  pith — 
They  are  flat  as  the  statutes  at  law ; 

And  for  all  that  they  bring  me,  dear  Smith  ! 
Would  a glass  of  brown  stout  they  could  draw  I 

O’er  each  French  trashy  dish  as  I bend, 

My  heart  feels  a patriot’s  grief ! 

And  the  round  tears,  0 England  ! descend 
When  I think  on  a round  of  thy  beef. 

Yes,  my  soul  sentimentally  craves 
British  beer. — Hail,  Britannia,  hail ! 

To  thy  flag  on  the  foam  of  the  waves, 

And  the  foam  on  thy  flagons  of  ale. 

Yet  I own,  in  this  hour  of  my  drought, 

A dessert  has  most  welcomely  come ; 

Here  are  peaches  that  melt  in  the  mouth. 

And  grapes  blue  and  big  as  a plum. 

There  are  melons  too,  luscious  and  great, 

But  the  slices  I eat  shall  be  few, 

For  from  melons  incautiously  eat 
Melancholic  effects  may  ensue. 

Horrid  pun  ! you  ’ll  exclaim ; but  be  calm, 
Though  my  letter  bears  date,  as  you  view, 

From  the  land  of  the  date-bearing  palm, 

I will  palm  no  more  puns  upon  you. 


382 


FRAGMENT  OF  AN  ORATORIO, 

FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  JOB. 

Having  met  my  illustrious  friend  the  Composer  Neukomm^ 
at  Algiers,  several  years  ago,  I commenced  this  intended 
Oratorio  at  his  desire,  but  he  left  the  place  before  I proceeded 
farther  in  the  poem ; and  it  has  been  thus  left  unfinished. 

Crush’d  by  misfortune’s  yoke, 

Job  lamentably  spoke — 

“ My  boundless  curse  be  on 
The  day  that  I was  born ; 

Quench’d  be  the  star  that  shone 
Upon  my  natal  morn. 

In  the  grave  I long 
To  shroud  my  breast ; 

Where  the  wicked  cease  to  wrong, 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest.” 

Then  Eliphaz  rebuked  his  wild  despair : 

“ What  Heaven,  ordains,  ’tis  meet  that  man 
should  bear. 

Lately,  at  midnight  drear, 

A vision  shook  my  bones  with  fear ; 

A spirit  pass’d  before  my  face. 

And  yet  its  form  I could  not  trace  ; 


FRAGMENT  OF  AN  ORATORIO. 


383 


It  stopped — it  stood — it  chill’d  my  blood. 
The  hair  upon  my  flesh  uprose 
With  freezing  dread  ! 

Deep  silence  reign’d,  and,  at  its  close, 

I heard  a voice  that  said — 

Shall  mortal  man  be  more  pure  and  just 
Than  God,  who  made  him  from  the  dust  ? 
Hast  thou  not  learnt  of  old,  how  fleet 
Is  the  triumph  of  the  hypocrite ; 

How  soon  the  wreath  of  joy  grows  wan 
On  the  brow  of  the  ungodly  man  ? 

By  the  fire  of  his  conscience  he  perisheth 
In  an  unbiown  flame  : 

The  Earth  demands  his  death. 

And  the  Heavens  reveal  his  shame.’  ” 

JOB. 

Is  this  your  consolation  ? 

Is  it  thus  that  ye  condole 
With  the  depth  of  my  desolation, 

And  the  anguish  of  my  soul  ? 

But  I will  not  cease  to  wail 
The  bitterness  of  my  bale.— 

Man  that  is  born  of  woman, 

Short  and  evil  is  his  hour ; 

He  fleeth  like  a shadow, 

He  fadeth  like  a flower. 

My  days  are  pass’d — my  hope  and  trust 
Is  but  to  moulder  in  the  dust. 


384 


FRAGMENT  OF  AN  ORATORIO. 


CHORUS. 

Bow,  mortal,  bow,  before  thy  God, 

Nor  murmur  at  his  chastening  rod  ; 

Fragile  being  of  earthly  clay. 

Think  on  God’s  eternal  sway ! 

Hark ! from  the  whirlwind  forth 
Thy  Maker  speaks — “ Thou  child  of  earth, 
Where  wert  thou  when  I laid 
Creation’s  corner-stone  ? 

When  the  sons  of  God  rejoicing  made, 

And  the  morning  stars  together  sang  and  shone  ? 
Hadst  thou  power  to  bid  above 
Heaven’s  constellations  glow  ; 

Or  shape  the  forms  that  live  and  move 
On  Nature’s  face  below  ? 

Hast  thou  given  the  horse  his  strength  and  pride  ? 
He  paws  the  valley,  with  nostril  wide. 

He  smells  far  off  the  battle  ; 

He  neighs  at  the  trumpet’s  sound — 

And  his  speed  devours  the  ground. 

As  he  sweeps  to  where  the  quivers  rattle, 

And  the  spear  and  shield  shine  bright, 

^Midst  the  shouting  of  the  captains 
And  the  thunder  of  the  light. 


385 


TO  MY  NIECE,  MARY  CiUlPBELL. 

[The  following  lines  were  written  in  Iilrs.  Alfred  Hill’s 
album,  in  the  early  part  of  1842,  about  twelve  months  after 
her  arrival  in  London  from  Scotland,  and  they  exhibit  the 
gentle  and  affectionate  feelings  which  ever  marked  Camp- 
bell’s intercourse  with  those  he  loved.] 

Our  friendship ’s  not  a stream  to  dry, 

Or  stop  with  angry  jar ; 

A life-long  planet  in  our  sky — 

No  meteor-shooting  star. 

Thy  playfulness  and  pleasant  ways 
Shall  cheer  my  wintry  track, 

And  give  my  old  declining  days 
A second  summer  back  ! 

Proud  honesty  protects  our  lot. 

No  dun  infests  our  bowers  ; 

Wealth’s  golden  lamps  illumine  not 
Brows  more  content  than  ours. 

To  think,  too,  thy  remembrance  fond 
May  love  me  after  death, 

Gives  fancied  happiness  beyond 
My  lease  of  living  breath. 

25 


386  TO  MY  NIECE,  MARY  CAMPBELL. 


Meanwhile  thine  intellects  presage 
A life-time  rich  in  truth, 

And  make  me  feel  th’  advance  of  age 
Retarded  by  thy  youth  ! 

Good  night ! propitious  dreams  betide 
Thy  sleep  — awaken  gay, 

And  we  will  make  to-morrow  glide 
As  cheerful  as  to-day  ! 


APPENDIX. 


THE  DIRGE  OF  WALLACE. 

When  Scotland’s  great  Regent,  our  warrior  most 
dear, 

The  debt  of  his  nature  did  pay, 

’Twas  Edward,  the  cruel,  had  reason  to  fear, 

And  cause  to  be  struck  with  dismay. 

At  the  window  of  Edward  the  raven  did  croak, 
Though  Scotland  a widow  became  ; 

Each  tie  of  true  honor  to  Wallace  he  broke  — 

The  raven  croaked  “ Sorrow  and  shame  ! ” 

At  Elderslie  Castle  no  raven  was  heard, 

But  the  soothings  of  honor  and  truth ; 

His  spirit  inspired  the  soul  of  the  bard 
To  comfort  the  Love  of  his  youth  ! 

They  lighted  the  tapers  at  dead  of  night. 

And  chanted  their  holiest  hymn  ; 

But  her  brow  and  her  bosom  were  damp  with  affright, 
Her  eye  was  all  sleepless  and  dim  ! 

And  the  lady  of  Elderslie  wept  for  her  lord. 

When  a death-watch  beat  in  her  lonely  room. 
When  her  curtain  had  shook  of  its  own  accord, 

And  the  raven  had  flapped  at  her  window  board. 

To  tell  of  her  warrior’s  doom. 

Now  sing  ye  the  death-song,  and  loudly  pray 
Eor  the  soul  of  my  knight  so  dear  I 


388 


APPENDIX. 


And  call  me  a widow,  this  wretched  day, 

Since  the  warning  of  God  is  here. 

For  a nightmare  rests  on  my  strangled  sleep; 

The  lord  of  my  bosom  is  doomed  to  die  I 
His  valorous  heart  they  have  wounded  deep, 

And  the  blood-red  tears  shall  his  country  weep 
For  Wallace  of  Elderslie. 

1 et  knew  not  his  country,  that  ominous  hour. 

Ere  the  loud  matin-bell  was  rung. 

That  the  trumpet  of  death,  on  an  English  tower, 

Had  the  dirge  of  her  champion  sung. 

When  his  dungeon-light  looked  dim  and  red 
On  the  high-born  blood  of  a martyr  slain. 

No  anthem  was  sung  at  his  lowly  death-bed — 

No  weeping  was  there  when  his  bosom  bled, 

And  his  heart  was  rent  in  twain. 

When  he  strode  o'er  the  wreck  of  each  well  fought  fields 
With  the  yellow-haired  chiefs  of  his  native  land; 

For  his  lance  was  not  shivered  on  helmet  or  shield^ 

And  the  sword  that  was  fit  for  archangel  to  wield 
Was  light  in  his  terrible  hand. 

Yet,  bleeding  and  bound,  though  “ the  Wallace-wight 
For  his  long-loved  country  die. 

The  bugle  ne'er  sung  to  a braver  knight 
Than  William  of  Elderslie  I 

But  the  day  of  his  triumphs  shall  never  depart ; 

His  head,  unentombed,  shall  with  glory  be  palmed , 
From  its  blood-streaming  altar  his  spirit  shall  start ; 
Though  the  raven  has  fed  on  his  mouldering  heart, 

A nobler  was  never  embalmed  1 


389 


NOTES. 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 


Page  6,  line  25. 

And  such  thy  strength-inspiring  aid  that  hore 

The  hardy  Bypon  to  his  native  shoi'e — 

The  following  picture  of  his  own  distress,  given  by  Byron 
in  his  simple  and  interesting  naiTative,  justifies  the  description 
in  page  5. 

After  relating  the  barbarity  of  the  Indian  cacique  to  his 
child,  he  proceeds  thus : — “A  day  or  two  after  we  put  to  sea 
again,  and  crossed  the  gi'eat  bay  I mentioned  we  had  been  at 
the  bottom  of  when  we  first  hauled  away  to  the  westward. 
The  land  here  was  very  low  and  sandy,  and  something  like 
the  mouth  of  a river  which  discharged  itself  into  the  sea,  and 
which  had  been  taken  no  notice  of  by  us  before,  as  it  was  so 
shallow  that  the  Indians  were  obliged  to  take  every  thing  out 
of  their  canoes,  and  carry  them  over  land.  We  rowed  up  the 
river  four  or  five  leagues,  and  then  took  into  a branch  of  it  that 
ran  first  to  the  eastward,  and  then  to  the  northward;  here  it 
became  much  narrower,  and  the  stream  excessively  rapid,  so 
that  we  gained  but  little  way,  though  we  wrought  very  nard. 
At  night  we  landed  upon  its  banks,  and  had  a most  un com- 
fortable lodging,  it  being  a perfect  swamp,  and  we  had  no- 
thing to  cover  us,  though  it  rained  excessively.  The  Indians 
were  little  better  off  than  we,  as  there  was  no  wood  here  to 
make  their  wigwams;  so  that  all  they  could  do  was  to  prop 
up  the  bark,  which  they  carry  in  the  bottom  of  their  canoes, 
and  shelter  themselves  as  weU  as  they  could  to  the  leeward 
of  it.  Knowing  the  difticulties  they  had  to  encounter  here, 
they  had  provided  themselves  with  some  seal ; but  we  had 
not  a morsel  to  eat,  after  the  heavy  fatigues  of  the  day,  ex- 
cepting a sort  of  root  we  saw  the  Indians  make  us^"  of,  which 
was  very  disagreeable  to  the  taste.  We  laboured  all  next 
day  against  the  stream,  and  fared  as  we  had  done  the  day 
before.  The  next  day  brought  ns  to  the  carrying-place. 
Here  was  plenty  of  wood,  but  nothing  to  be  got  for  suste- 
nance. We  passed  this  night,  as  we  had  frequently  done. 


390 


NOTES. 


under  a tree ; but  what  we  suffered  at  this  time  is  not  easy 
to  be  expressed.  I had  been  three  days  at  the  oar  without 
any  kind  of  nourishment  except  the  wretched  root  above 
mentioned.  I had  no  shirt,  for  it  had  rotted  off  by  bits.  All 
my  clothes  consisted  of  a short  grieko  (something  like  a bear- 
skin), a piece  of  red  cloth  which  had  once  been  a waistcoat, 
and  a ragged  pair  of  trowsers,  without  shoes  or  stockings.” 

Page  7,  line  14. 

a Briton  and  a friend! 

Don  Patricio  Gedd,  a Scotch  physician  in  one  of  the  Spa 
nish  settlements,  hospitably  relieved  Byron  and  his  wretched 
associates,  of  which  the  commodore  speaks  in  the  warmest 
terms  of  gratitude. 


Page  7,  line  30. 

Or  yield  the  lyre  of  Heaven  another  string. 

The  seven  strings  of  Apollo’s  harp  were  the  symbolical  repre  ' 
sentation  of  the  seven  planets.  Herschel,  by  discovering  an 
eighth,  might  be  said  to  add  another  string  to  the  instrument. 

Page  8,  line  1. 

The  Swedish-sage, 

Linnseus. 

Page  8,  line  26. 

Deep  from  his  vaults  the  Loxian  murmurs  flow, 

Loxias  is  the  name  frequently  given  to  Apollo  by  Greek 
writers : it  is  met  with  more  than  once  in  the  Choephorae  of 
^schylus. 

Page  10,  line  1. 

UnlocJcs  a oenerous  store  at  thy  command, 

Like  Horeos  rocks  beneath  the  prophet' s hand. 

See  Exodus,  chap.  xvii.  3,  5,  6. 

Page  15,  line  19. 

Wild  Obi  flies — 

Among  the  negroes  of  the  West  Indies,  Obi,  or  Orbiah,  is 
the  name  of  a magical  power,  which  is  believed  by  them  to 
affect  the  object  of  its  malignity  with  dismal  calamities.  Such 
a belief  must  undoubtedly  have  been  deduced  from  the  super- 
stitious mythology  of  their  kinsmen  on  the  coast  of  Africa.  I 
have,  therefore,  personified  Obi  as  the  evil  spirit  of  the  AM 
can,  although  the  history  of  the  African  tribes  mentions  the 
evil  spirit  of  their  religious  creed  by  a different  appellation. 


NOTES. 


391 


Page  15,  line  24. 

Sibir's  dreary  mines, 

Mr.  Bell  of  Antermony,  in  his  Travels  through  Siberia,  in- 
fonns  us  that  the  name  of  the  country  is  universally  pro- 
nounced Sibir  by  the  Russians. 


Page  16,  line  10. 

Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man  ! 

The  histoiy  of  the  partition  of  Poland,  of  the  massacre  in 
the  suburbs  of  Warsaw,  and  on  the  bridge  of  Prague,  the  tri- 
umphant entry  of  Suwarrow  into  the  Polish  capital,  and  the 
insult  offered  to  human  nature,  by  the  blasphemous  thanks 
offered  up  to  Heaven,  for  victories  obtained  over  men  fight- 
ing in  the  sacred  cause  of  liberty,  by  murderers  and  oppress- 
ors, are  events  generally  known. 

Page  22,  line  9. 

The  shrill  hoim  blew ; 

The  negroes  in  the  West  Indies  are  summoned  to  their  morn- 
ing work  by  a shell  or  horn. 

Page  22,  line  30. 

How  long  was  Timour's  iron  sceptre  sway'd^ 

To  elucidate  this  passage,  1 shall  subjoin  a quotation  from 
the  preface  to  Letters  from  a Hindoo  Rajah,  a work  of  ele- 
gance and  celebrity. 

“ The  impostor  of  Mecca  had  established,  as  one  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  his  doctrine,  the  merit  of  extending  it  either  by  per- 
suasion, or  the  sword,  to  all  parts  of  the  earth.  How  steadily 
this  injunction  was  adhered  to  by  his  followers,  and  with 
what  success  it  was  pursued,  is  well  known  to  all  who  are  in 
tlie  least  conversant  in  history. 

“ The  same  overwhelming  torrent  which  had  inundated  the 
greater  part  of  Africa,  burst  its  way  into  the  very  heart  of 
Europe;  and,  covering  many  kingdoms  of  Asia  with  unbound- 
ed desolation,  directed  its  baneful  course  to  the  flourishing 
provinces  of  Hindustan.  Here  these  fierce  and  hardy  adven 
hirers,  whose  only  improvement  had  been  in  the  science  of 
destruction,  who  added  the  fury  of  fanaticism  to  the  ravages 
of  war,  found  the  gi'eat  end  of  their  conquest  opposed  by 
objects  which  neither  the  ardour  of  their  persevering  zeal, 
nor  savage  barbarity,  could  sunuount.  ^lultitudes  were  sa- 
crificed by  the  cruel  hand  of  religious  persecution,  and  whole 
countries  were  deluged  in  blood,  in  the  vain  hope,  that  by  the 


392 


NOTES- 


destruction  of  a part  the  remainder  might  be  persuaded,  or 
terrified,  into  the  profession  of  Mahomedism.  But  all  these 
sanguinary  efforts  were  ineffectual;  and  at  length,  being  fully 
convinced  that,  though  they  might  extirpate,  they  could  never 
hope  to  convert,  any  number  of  the  Hindoos,  they  relimpiished 
the  impracticable  idea  with  w^hlch  they  had  entered  upon  their 
career  of  conquest,  and  contented  themselves  with  the  acquir- 
ment  of  the  civil  dominion  and  almost  universal  empire  of  Hin- 
dostan.” — Letters  from  a Hindoo  Rajah^  by  Eliza  Hamilton. 

Page  23,  line  15. 

And  braved  Vie  stormy  Spirit  of  the  Cape ; 

See  the  description  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  translated 
from  Camoens,  by  Mickle. 

Page  23,  line  30. 

While  famish'd  nations  died  along  the  shore : 

The  following  account  of  British  conduct,  and  its  conse- 
quences, in  Bengal,  will  afford  a sufficient  idea  of  the  fact 
alluded  to  in  this  passage. 

After  describing  the  monopoly  of  salt,  betel-nut,  and  tobac- 
co, the  historian  proceeds  thus: — “ Money  in  this  current  came 
but  by  drops ; it  could  not  quench  the  thirst  of  those  who 
waited  in  India  to  receive  it.  An  expedient,  such  as  it  was, 
remained  to  quicken  its  pace.  The  natives  could  live  with 
little  salt,  but  could  not  want  food.  Some  of  the  agents  saw 
themselves  well  situated  for  collecting  the  rice  into  stores ; 
they  did  so.  They  knew  the  Gentoos  would  rather  die  than 
violate  the  principles  of  their  religion  by  eating  flesh.  The 
alternative  would  therefore  be  between  giving  what  they  laid, 
or  dying.  The  inhabitants  sunk; — they  that  cultivated  tiie 
land,  and  saw  the  harvest  at  the  disposal  of  others,  planted  in 
doubt — scarcity  ensued.  Then  the  monopoly  was  easier  ma- 
naged— sickness  ensued.  In  some  districts  the  languid  living 
left  the  bodies  of  their  numerous  dead  unburied.” — Shoi't  His 
tory  of  the  English  Transactions  in  the  East  Indies^  p.  145. 

Page  24,  line  15. 

Nine  times  have  Brama’ s wheels  of  lightning  hurl'd 
His  awful  presence  o'er  the  alarmed  world; 

Among  the  sublime  fictions  of  the  Hindoo  mythology,  it  i 
one  article  of  belief,  that  the  Deity  Brama  has  descended  nim 
times  upon  the  world  in  various  forms,  and  that  he  is  jet  h 
appear  a tenth  time,  in  the  figure  of  a warrior  upon  a whip 
Aorse,  to  cut  off  all  incorrigible  otfenders.  Avatar  is  th< 
word  used  to  express  his  descent. 


NOTES. 


393 


Page  25,  line  8. 

Shall  Seinswattee  wave  her  hallow'd  wand ! 

And  Camdto  bright^  and  Ganesa  sublime^ 

Camdeo  is  the  God  of  Love  in  the  mythology  of  the  Hin- 
loos.  Ganesa  and  Seriswattee  coiTespond  to  the  pagan  deities 
Janus  and  Minerva. 


Page  31,  line  2. 

The  noon  of  manhood  to  a myrtle  shade  ! 

Sacred  to  Venus  is  the  myrtle  shade. — Dryden. 

Page  34,  line  7. 

Thy  woes^  Arion ! 

Falconer,  in  his  poem,  “ The  Shipwreck,”  speaks  of  himself 
by  the  name  of  Arion. 

See  Falconer’s  “ Shipwreck,”  Canto  III. 

Page  34,  line  22. 

T he  robber  Moor, 

See  Schiller’s  tragedy  of  the  “ Robbers,”  Scene  v. 

Page  35,  line  11. 

What  millions  died — that  Ccesar  might  he  great  / 

The  carnage  occasioned  by  the  wars  of  Julius  Caesar  has 
been  usually  estimated  at  two  millions  of  men. 

Page  35,  line  12. 

Or  team  the  fate  that  bleeding  thousands  bore^ 

March'd  by  their  Charles  to  Dntiper's  swampy  shore ; 

“ In  this  extremity,”  (says  the  biographer  of  Charles  XII., 
ol  Sweden,  speaking  of  his  military  exploits  before  the  battle 
of  Pultowa,)  “the  memorable  winter  of  1709,  which  was  still 
more  remarkable  in  that  part  of  Europe  than  in  France,  de- 
stroyed numbers  of  his  troops;  for  Charles  resolved  to  brave 
the  seasons  as  he  had  done  his  enemies,  and  ventured  to  make 
long  marches  during  this  mortal  cold.  It  was  in  one  of  these 
marches  that  two  thousand  men  fell  down  dead  with  cold  be- 
fore his  eyes.” 

Page  36,  line  7. 

Fbr,  as  Iona's  saint^ 

The  natives  of  the  island  of  Iona  have  an  opinion,  that  on 
certain  evenings  every  year  the  tutelary  saint  Columba  is 


394 


NOTES. 


seen  on  the  top  of  the  church  spires  counting  the  surround- 
ing islands,  to  see  that  they  have  not  been  sunk  by  the  power 
of  witchcraft. 

Page  36,  line  26. 

And part^  like  Ajut — never  to  return  ! 

See  the  history  of  Ajut  and  Anningait,  in  “ The  Rambler.*  * 


THEODRIC. 

Page  51,  line  3. 

That  xjave  the  glacier  tops  their  richest  ghw^ 

The  sight  of  the  glaciers  of  Switzerland,  I am  told,  has 
cften  disappointed  travellers  who  had  perused  the  accounts  of 
their  splendour  and  sublimity  given  by  Bourrit  and  other  de- 
scribers  of  Swiss  scenery.  Possibly  Bourrit,  who  had  spent 
his  life  in  an  enamoured  familiarity  with  the  beauties  of  Na- 
ture in  Switzerland,  may  have  leaned  to  the  romantic  side  of 
description.  One  can  pardon  a man  for  a sort  of  idolatry  of 
those  imposing  objects  of  Nature  which  heighten  our  ideas  of 
the  bounty  of  Nature  or  Providence,  when  we  reflect  that  the 
glaciers — those  seas  of  ice — are  not  only  sublime,  but  useful, 
they  are  the  inexhaustible  reservoirs  which  supply  the  prin- 
cipal rivers  of  Europe;  and  their  annual  melting  is  in  pro- 
portion to  the  summer  heat  which  dries  up  those  rivers  and 
makes  them  need  that  supply. 

That  the  picturesque  grandeur  of  the  glaciers  should  some- 
times disappoint  the  traveller,  will  not  seem  surprising  to  an}’’ 
one  who  has  been  much  in  a mountainous  country,  and  recol- 
lects that  the  beauty  of  Nature  in  such  countries  is  not  only 
variable,  but  capriciously  dependent  on  the  weather  and  sun- 
shine. There  are  about  four  hundred  diflcrent  glaciers,* 
according  to  the  computation  of  M.  Bourrit,  between  Mont 
Blanc  and  the  frontiers  of  the  Tyrol.  The  full  effect  of  the 
most  lofty  and  picturesque  of  them  can,  of  course,  only  be 
produced  by  the  richest  and  warmest  lights  of  the  atmosphere; 
and  tlie  very  heat  which  illuminates  them  must  have  a chang- 
ing influence  on  many  of  their  appearances.  I imagine  it  is 
owing  to  this  circumstance,  namely,  the  casualty  and  change- 
ableness of  the  appearance  of  some  of  the  glaciers,  that  the 
impressions  made  by  them  on  the  minds  of  other  and  more 
transient  travellers  have  been  less  enchanting  than  those  de- 

Occupying,  if  taken  together,  a surface  of  130  square 
yoagues. 


NOTES. 


395 


scribed  by  M.  Bourrit.  On  one  occasion  M.  Bcurrit  seems 
even  to  speak  of  a past  phenomenon,  and  certainly  one  which 
no  other  spectator  attests  in  the  same  terms  when  he  says, 
that  there  once  existed  between  the  Kandel  Steig  and  Lauter- 
brun,  “ a pasage  amidst  singular  glaciers,  sometimes  resem 
bling  magical  towms  of  ice,  with  pilasters,  pyramids,  columns, 
and  obelisks  reflecting  to  the  sun  the  most  brilliant  hues  of 
the  finest  gems.” — M.  Bourrit’s  description  of  the  Glacier  of 
the  Rhone  is  quite  enchanting: — “ To  form  an  idea,”  he  says, 
“ of  this  superb  spectacle,  figure  in  your  mind  a scaflblding 
of  transparent  ice,  filling  a space  of  two  miles,  rising  to  the 
clouds,  and  darting  flashes  of  light  like  the  sun.  Nor  were  the 
several  parts  less  magnificent  and  surprising.  One  might  see 
as  it  were,  the  streets  and  buildings  of  a city,  erected  in  the 
form  of  an  amphitheatre,  and  embellished  with  pieces  of  w’ater, 
cascades  and  torrents.  The  effects  were  as  prodigious  as  the 
immensity  and  the  height; — the  most  beautiful  azure — the 
most  splendid  white — the  regular  appearance  of  a thousand 
pyramids  of  ice,  are  more  easy  to  be  imagined  than  describ- 
ed.”— Bourrit^  iii.  163. 


Page  51,  line  10. 

From  heights  browsed  by  the  bounding  bouquetin ; 

Laborde,  in  his  Tableau  de  la  Suisse,”  gives  a curious  ac- 
count of  this  animal,  the  wild  sharp  cry  and  elastic  move- 
ments of  which  must  heighten  the  picturesque  appearance 
of  its  haunts. — “ Nature,”  says  Laborde  “ has  destined  it  to 
mountains  covered  with  snow:  if  it  is  not  exposed  to  keen 
cold,  it  becomes  blind.  Its  agility  in  leaping  much  surpasses 
that  of  the  chamois,  and  would  ap'pear  incredible  to  those  who 
have  not  seen  it.  There  is  not  a mountain  so  high  or  steep  to 
which  it  will  not  trust  itself,  provided  it  has  room  to  place  its 
feet;  it  can  scramble- along  the  highest  wall,  if  its  surface  be 
rugged.” 

Page  51,  line  17. 

enamelVd  moss. 

The  moss  of  Switzerland,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Tyrol,  ia 
remarkable  for  a bright  smoothness,  approaching  to  the  ap- 
pearance of  enamel. 

Page  56,  line  4. 

Hoio  dear  seem'd  ev'n  the  waste  and  wild  Shreckhorn, 

The  Shreckhorn  means,  in  German,  the  Peak  of  Terror. 

Page  56,  line  9. 

Blindfold  his  native  hills  he  could  have  known! 

1 have  here  availed  myself  of  a striking  expression  of  the 


896 


NOTES. 


Emperor  Napoleon  respecting  his  recollections  of  Corsica, 
which  is  recorded  in  Las  Casas’s  History  of  the  Emperor’s 
Abode  at  St.  Helena. 


O’CONNOn’S  CHILD. 


Page  83,  line  1. 

Innisfail^  the  ancient  name  of  Ireland. 

Page  84,  line  7. 

Kerne^  the  plural  of  Kern,  an  Irish  foot-soldier.  In  this 
sense  the  word  is  used  by  Shakspeare.  Gainsford,  in  his 
Glories  of  England,  says,  “ They  (the  Irish)  are  desperate  in 
revenge,  and  their  kerne  think  no  man  dead  until  his  head 
be  off:' 

Page  84,  line  26. 

Shieling,  a rude  cabin  or  hut. 


Page  85,  line  4. 

In  Erin's  yellow  vesture  clad, 

Yellow,  dyed  from  saffron,  was  the  favourite  colour  of  the 
ancient  Irisi.  When  the  Irish  chieftains  came  to  make  terms 
■with  Queen  Elizabeth’s  lord-lieutenant,  we  are  told  by  Sir 
John  Davis,  that  they  came  to  court  in  satfron-coloured  uni- 
forms. 

Page  85,  line  18. 


Morat,  a drink  made  of  the  juice  of  mulberry  mixed  with 
honey. 


Page  86,  line  21. 


Their  tribe,  they  said,  their  high  degree, 
Was  sung  in  Tara's  psaltery ; 


The  pride  of  the  Irish  in  ancestry  was  so  great,  that  one  of 
the  O’Neals  being  told  that  Barret  of  Castlemone  had  been 
there  only  400  years,  he  replied — that  he  hated  the  clown  as 
if  he  had  come  there  but  yesterday. 

Tara  w^as  the  place  of  assemblage  and  feasting  of  the 
vetty  princes  of  Ireland.  Very  splendid  and  fabulous  de- 
scriptions are  given  by  the  Irish  historians  of  the  pomp  and 
luxury  of  those  meetings.  The  psaltery  of  Tara  was  the 
grand  national  register  of  Ireland.  The  grand  epoch  of 
political  eminence  in  the  early  history  of  the  Irish  is  the 


NOTES. 


897 


reign  of  their  great  and  favourite  monarch,  011am  Fodlah, 
who  reigned,  according  to  Keating,  about  950  years  before 
the  Christian  aera.  Under  him  was  instituted  the  great  Fes 
at  Tara,  which  it  is  pretended  was  a triennial  convention  of 
the  states,  or  a parliament;  the  members  of  which  were  the 
Druids,  and  other  learned  men,  who  represented  the  people 
in  that  assembly.  Very  minute  accounts  are  given  by  Irish 
annalists  of  the  magnificence  and  order  of  these  entertain- 
ments; from  which,  if  credible,  we  might  collect  the  earliest 
traces  of  heraldry  that  ocoair  in  history.  To  preserve  order 
and  regularity  in  the  great  number  and  variety  of  the  mem- 
bers who  met  on  such  occasions,  the  Irish  historians  inform 
us  that,  when  the  banquet  was  ready  to  be  served  up,  the 
shield-bearers  of  the  princes,  and  other  members  of  the  con- 
vention, delivered  in  their  shields  and  targets,  which  were 
readily  distinguished  by  the  coats  of  anus  emblazoned  upon 
them.  These  were  arranged  by  the  grand  marshal  and  prin- 
cipal herald,  and  hung  upon  the  walls  on  the  right  side  of  the 
table;  and,  upon  entering  the  apartments,  each  member  took 
his  seat  under  his  respective  shield  or  target,  without  the 
slightest  disturbance.  The  concluding  days  of  the  meeting, 
it  is  allowed  by  the  Irish  antiquaries,  were  spent  in  very  free 
excess  of  conviviality:  but  the  first  six,  they  say  were  de- 
voted to  the  examination  and  settlement  of  the  annals  of  the 
kingdom.  These  were  publicly  rehearsed.  When  they  had 
passed  the  approbation  of  the  assembly,  they  were  transcribed 
into  the  authentic  chronicles  of  the  nation,  which  was  called 
the  Register,  or  Psalter,  of  Tara. 

Col.  Vallancey  gives  a translation  of  an  old  Irish  fragment, 
found  in  Trinity-college,  Dublin,  in  which  the  palace  of  the 
above  assembly  is  thus  described,  as  it  existed  in  the  reign 
of  Cormac: — 

“In  the  reign  of  Cormac,  the  palace  of  Tara  was  nine 
hundred  feet  square;  the  diameter  of  the  surrounding  rath, 
seven  dice  or  casts  of  a dart;  it  contained  one  hundred  and 
fifty  apartments;  one  hundred  and  fifty  dormitories,  or  sleep- 
ing-rooms for  guards,  and  sixty  men  in  each;  the  height  was 
twenty-seven  cubits;  there  were  one  hundred  and  fifty  com- 
mon drinking  horns,  twelve  doors,  and  one  thousand  guests 
daily,  besides  princes,  orators,  and  men  of  science,  engravers 
of  gold  and  silver,  carvers,  modellers,  and  nobles.”  Tlie  Irish 
description  of  the  banqueting-hall  is  thus  translated:  “ Twelve 
stalls  or  divisions  in  each  wing;  sixteen  attendants  on  each 
side,  and  two  to  each  table;  one  hundred  guests  in  all.” 

Page  87,  line  4. 

And  stemm'd  De  Bouryd^s  chivalry  f 

The  house  of  O’Connor  had  a right  to  boast  of  their  victo- 
ries over  the  English.  It  was  a chief  of  the  O’Connoi  race 


398 


NOTES. 


who  gave  a check  to  the  English  champion  De  Coiircy,  so 
famous  for  his  personal  strength,  and  for  cleaving  a helmet 
at  one  blow  of  his  sword,  in  tlie  i)resence  of  the  kings  of 
France  and  England,  when  the  French  champion  declined 
the  combat  with  him.  Though  ultimately  conquered  by  the 
English  under  De  Bourgo,  the  O'Connors  had  also  hurnbled 
the  pride  of  that  name  on  a memorable  occasion:  viz.,  when 
Walter  De  Bourgo,  an  ancestor  of  that  De  Bourgo  who  won 
the  battle  of  Athunree,  had  become  so  insolent  as  to  make 
excessive  demands  upon  the  territories  of  Connaught,  and  to 
bid  defiance  to  all  the  rights  and  properties  reserved  b}"  the 
Irish  chiefs.  Eath  O’Connor,  a near  descendant  of  the  famous 
Cathal,  surnamed  of  the  Bloody  h;md,  rose  against  the  usurper, 
and  defeated  the  English  so  severely,  that  their  general  died 
of  chagrin  after  the  battle. 

Page  87,  line  7. 

Or  heal-Jires  for  your  jubilee 

The  month  of  ]\Iay  is  to  this  day  called  Mi  Beal  tiennie, 
i.  e.,  the  month  of  Beal’s  fire,  in  the  original  language  of  Ire- 
land, and  hence,  I believe,  the  name  of  the  Beltan  festival  in 
the  Highlands.  These  fires  were  lighted  on  the  summits  of 
mountains  (the  Irish  antiquaries  say)  in  honour  of  the  sun; 
and  are  supposed,  by  those  conjecturing  gentlemen,  to  prove 
the  origin  of  the  Irish  from  some  nation  who  worshipped  Baal 
or  Belus.  Many  hills  in  Ireland  still  retain  the  name  of  Cnoc 
Greine,  i.  e.,  the  Hill  of  the  Sun;  and  on  all  are  to  be  seen 
the  ruins  of  druidical  altars. 

Page  88,  line  2. 

And  play  my  clarshecli  hy  thy  side. 

The  clarshech,  or  harp,  the  principal  musical  instrument 
of  the  Hibernian  bards,  does  not  appear  to  be  of  Irish  origin, 
nor  indigenous  to  any  of  the  British  islands. — The  Britons 
undoubtedly  were  not  acquainted  with  it  during  the  residence 
of  the  Romans  in  their  country,  as  in  all  their  coins,  on  which 
musical  instruments  are  represented,  we  see  only  the  Roman 
lyre,  and  not  the  British  teylin,  or  harp. 

Page  88,  line  9. 

And  saw  at  dawn  the  lofty  hawn 

Bawn,  from  the  Teutonic  Bawen — to  construct  and  secure 
with  branches  of  trees,  was  so  called  because  the  primitive 
Celtic  fortifications  were  made  by  digging  a ditch,  throwing 
up  a rampart,  and  on  the  latter  fixing  stakes,  which  were 
interlaced  with  boughs  of  trees.  This  word  is  used  by  Spen- 


NOTES, 


399 


Ber;  but  it  is  inaccurately  called  by  Mr.  Todd,  his  annotator, 
an  eminence. 

Page  91,  line  13. 

To  speak  the  malison  of  heaven. 

If  the  wrath  which  I have  ascribed  to  the  heroine  of  this 
little  piece  should  seem  to  exhibit  her  character  as  too  un- 
naturally stripped  of  patriotic  and  domestic  afiections.,  I must 
beg  leave  to  plead  the  authority  of  Corneille  in  the  represent- 
ation of  a similar  passion ; I allude  to  the  denunciation  of 
Camille,  in  the  tragedy  of  “ Horace.”  When  Horace,  accom- 
panied by  a soldier  bearing  the  three  swords  of  the  Curiatii, 
meets  his  sister,  and  invites  her  to  congratulate  him  on  his 
victory,  she  expresses  only  her  grief,  which  he  attributes  at 
first  only  to  her  feelings  for  the  loss  of  her  two  brothers ; but 
when  she  bursts  forth  into  reproaches  against  him  as  the 
murderer  of  her  lover,  the  last  of  the  Curiatii,  he  exclaims : 

“ 0 ciel!  qui  vit  jamais  une  pareille  rage! 

Crois-tu  done  que  je  sois  insensible  a roiitrage, 

Que  je  souffre  en  mon  sang  ce  mortel  d^slionneur? 
AL-ie,  aime  cette  mort  qui  fait  notre  bonheur; 

Et  pref^re  du  moins  au  souvenir  d’un  homme 
Ce  que  doit  ta  naissance  aux  int^rets  de  Rome.” 

At  the  mention  of  Rome,  Camille  breaks  out  into  this 
apostrophe : 

“ Rome,  I’linique  objet  de  mon  ressentiment! 

Rome,  a qui  vient  ton  bras  d’immoler  mon  amanti 
Rome  qui  t’a  vu  naitre  et  que  ton  coeur  adore! 

Rome  enfin  que  je  hais  parce  qu’elle  t’honore! 

Puissent  tous  ses  voisins  ensemble  conjures 
Saper  ses  foiidements  encor  mal  assures; 

Et  si  ce  n’est  assez  de  toute  I’ltalie, 

Que  r Orient  centre  elle  a 1’ Occident  s’allie; 

Que  cent  peuples  unis  des  bouts  de  I’linivers 
Passent  pour  la  d4truire  et  les  moiits  et  les  mers; 

Qu’elle  meme  sur  soi  renverse  ses  murailles, 

Et  de  ses  propres  mains  d^chire  ses  entrailles  I 
Que  le  courroux  du  ciel  allum4  par  mes  vmux 
Fasse  pleuvoir  sur  elle  uii  deluge  de  feux! 

Puissd-je  de  mes  yeux  y voir  tomber  ce  foudre. 

Voir  ses  maisons  en  cendre  et  tes  lauriers  en  poudre, 
Voir  le  dernier  Remain  a son  dernier  soupir, 

Moi  seule  en  etre  cause,  et  inourir  de  plaisir!” 

Page  91,  line  18. 

Aiid  go  to  Alhunree  I (I  cried) 

In  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Second,  the  Irish  presented  to 


400 


NOTES. 


Pope  Jolin  the  Twenty-second  a memorial  of  their  sufferings 
under  tlie  English,  of  which  the  language  exhibits  all  the 
strength  of  despair.  “Ever  since  the  English  (say  they)  first 
appeared  upon  our  coasts,  they  entered  our  teiTitories  under 
a certain  specious  pretence  of  charity,  and  external  hypo- 
critical show  of  religion,  endeavouring  at  the  same  time,  by 
every  artifice  malice  could  suggest,  to  extirpate  us  root  and 
branch,  and  without  any  other  right  than  that  of  the  strong- 
est; they  have  so  far  succeeded  by  base  fraudulence,  and 
cunning,  that  they  have  forced  us  to  quit  our  fair  and  ample 
habitations  and  inheritances,  and  to  take  refuge  like  wild 
beasts  in  the  mountains,  the  woods,  and  the  morasses  of  the 
country; — nor  even  can  the  caverns  and  dens  protect  us 
against  their  insatiable  avarice.  They  pursue  us  even  into 
these  frightful  abodes ; endeavouring  to  dispossess  us  of  the 
wild  uncultivated  rocks,  and  arrogate  to  themselves  the 
PKOPERTY  OF  EVERY  PLACE  on  wliich  we  can  stamp  the 
figure  of  our  feet.” 

The  greatest  effort  ever  made  by  the  ancient  Irish  to  regain 
their  native  independence,  was  made  at  the  time  when  they 
called  over  the  brother  of  Robert  Bruce  from  Scotland.  Wil- 
liam de  Bourgo,  brother  to  the  Earl  of  Ulster,  and  Richard  de 
Bermingham,  were  sent  against  the  main  body  of  the  native 
insurgents,  who  were  headed  rather  than  commanded  by 
Felim  O’Connor.  The  important  battle  which  decided  the 
subjection  of  Ireland,  took  place  on  the  10th  of  August,  1315. 
It  was  the  bloodiest  that  ever  was  fought  between  the  two 
nations,  and  continued  throughout  the  whole  day,  from  the 
rising  to  the  setting  sun.  The  Irish  fought  with  inferior  dis- 
cipline, but  with  great  enthusiasm.  They  lost  ten  thousand 
men,  among  whom  were  twenty-nine  chiefs  of  Connaught. 
Tradition  states  that,  aft6r  this  terrible  day,  the  O’Connor 
family,  like  the  Fabian,  were  so  nearly  exterminated,  that 
throughout  all  Connaught  not  one  of  the  name  remained, 
except  Felim’s  brother,  who  was  capable  of  bearing  arms. 


lochiel’s  warning. 

Page  94. 

Lochiel,  the  chief  of  the  warlike  clan  of  the  Camerons, 
and  descended  from  ancestors  distinguished  in  tlieir  narrow 
sphere  for  great  personal  prowess,  was  a man  worthy  of  a 
better  cause  and  fate  than  that  in  which  he  embarked,  the 
enterprise  of  the  Stuarts  in  1745.  His  memory  is  still  fondly 
cherished  among  the  Highlanders,  by  the  appellation  of  the 


NOTES. 


401 


‘ gentle  LocJiiel:  ” for  he  was  famed  for  his  social  virtues  as 
mucli  as  his  martial  and  ma^aiiimous  (though  mistaken) 
loyalty.  His  influence  was  so  important  among  the  Highland 
chiefs,  that  it  depended  on  his  joining  witli  his  clan  whether 
the  standard  of  Charles  should  be  raised  or  not  in  1745. 
Lochiel  was  himself  too  wise  a man  to  be  blind  to  the  conse- 
quences of  so  hopeless  an  enterprise,  but  his  sensibility  to  the 
point  of  honour  overruled  his  wisdom.  Charles  appealed 
to  his  loyalty,  and  he  could  not  brook  the  reproaches  of  his 
Prince.  When  Charles  landed  at  Borrodab,  Lochiel  went 
to  meet  him.  but  on  his  way  called  at  his  brother’s  house 
{ Cameron  of  Fassafern ),  and  told  him  on  what  errand  he  was 
going;  adding,  however,  that  he  meant  to  dissuade  the  Prince 
from  his  enterprise.  Fassafern  advised  him  in  that  case  to 
communicate  his  mind  by  letter  to  Charles.  “ No,”  said 
Lochiel,  “ 1 think  it  due  to  my  Prince  to  give  him  my  rea- 
sons in  person  for  refusing  to  join  his  standard.” — “Brother,” 
replied  Fassafern,  “ I know  you  better  than  you  know  your- 
self: if  the  Prince  once  sets  eyes  on  you,  he  will  make  you 
do  what  he  pleases.”  The  interview  accordingly  took  place; 
and  Lochiel,  with  many  arguments,  but  in  vain,  pressed  the 
Pretender  to  return  to  France,  and  reserve  himself  and  his 
friends  for  a more  favourable  occasion,  as  he  had  come,  by 
his  own  acknowledgment,  w'ithout  arms,  or  money,  or  ad- 
herents : or,  at  all  events,  to  remain  concealed  till  his  friends 
should  meet  and  deliberate  what  was  best  to  be  done.  Charles, 
whose  mind  was  wound  up  to  the  utmost  impatience,  paid  no 
regard  to  this  proposal,  but  answered,  “ that  he  was  determined 
to  put  all  to  the  hazard.”  “ In  a few  days,’*  said  he,  “ I will 
erect  the  royal  standard,  and  proclaim  to  the  people  of  Great 
Britain,  that  Charles  Stuart  is  come  over  to  claim  the  crown 
of  his  ancestors,  and  to  win  it  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  Lo- 
chiel, who  my  father  has  often  told  me  was  our  firmest  friend, 
may  stay  at  home  and  learn  from  the  newspapers  the  fate  of 
his  Prince.” — “ No,”  said  Lochiel,  “I  will  share  the  fate  of 
my  Prince,  and  so  shall  every  man  over  whom  nature  or 
fortune  hath  given  me  any  power.” 

The  other  chieftains  w’ho  followed  Charles  embraced  his 
cause  with  no  better  hopes.  It  engages  our  sympathy  most 
strongly  in  their  behalf,  that  no  motive,  but  their  feaV  to  bo 
reproached  with  cowardice  or  disloyalty,  impelled  them  to 
the  hopeless  adventure.  Of  this  we  have  an  example  in  the 
interview  of  Prince  Charles  with  Claiironald,  another  lead- 
ing chieftain  in  the  rebel  army. 

“ Charles,”  says  Home,  “ almost  reduced  to  despair,  in  his 
discourse  with  Boisdale,  addressed  the  two  Highlanders  with 
great  emotion,  and,  summing  up  his  arguments  fbr  taking  arms, 
conjured  them  to  assist  their  Prince,  their  countryman,  in  his 
atinost  need,  Clanronald  and  his  friend,  though  well  inclin- 
ed to  the  cause,  positively  refused,  and  told  him  that  to  take 

26 


402 


NOTES. 


ap  arms  'without  concert  or  support  was  to  pull  down  certain 
ruin  on  their  own  heads.  Charles  persisted,  argued,  and  im- 
plored. During  this  conversation  (they  were  on  shipboard) 
the  parties  walked  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  deck ; a 
Highlander  stood  near  them,  armed  at  all  points,  as  was  then 
the  fashion  of  his  country.  He  was  a younger  brother  of  Kin- 
loch  Moidart,  and  had  come  oif  to  the  ship  to  inquire  for  news, 
not  knowing  who  was  aboard.  When  he  gathered,  from 
their  discourse,  that  the  stranger  was  the  Prince  of  Wales; 
when  he  heard  his  chief  and  his  brother  refuse  to  take  arms 
with  their  Prince,  his  colour  went  and  came,  his  eyes  spark- 
led, he  shifted  his  place,  and  grasped  his  sword.  Charles 
observed  his  demeanour,  and  tirrning  briskly  to  him  called 
out,  ‘Will  you  assist  me?’ — ‘I  will,  I will,’  said  Ronald; 

though  no  other  man  in  the  Highlands  should  draw  a sword, 
I am  ready  to  die  for  you ! ’ Charles,  with  a profusion  of 
thanks  to  his  champion,  said,  he  wished  all  the  Highlanders 
were  like  him.  Without  further  deliberation,  the  two  Mac- 
donalds declared  that  they  would  also  join,  and  use  their  ut- 
most endeavours  to  engage  their  countrymen  to  take  arms.” 
— Home's  Hist,  Rebellion^  p.  40. 

Page  94,  line  17. 

Weep^  Albin  ! 

The  Gaelic  appellation  of  Scotland,  more  particularly  the 
Highlands. 

Page  96,  line  22. 

Lo  ! anointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath., 

Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  ! 

The  lines  allude  to  the  many  hardships  of  the  royal  sufferer. 

An  account  of  the  second  sight,  in  Irish  called  Taish,  is  thus 
given  in  Martin’s  Description  of  the  Western  Isles  of  Scotland. 

“ The  second  sight  is  a singular  faculty  of  seeing  an  other- 
wise invisible  object,  without  any  previous  means  used  by 
the  person  who  sees  it  for  that  end.  The  vision  makes  sucn 
a lively  impression  upon  the  seers,  that  they  neither  see  nor 
think  of  any  thing  else  except  the  vision  as  long  as  it  con- 
tinues; and  then  they  appear  pensive  or  jovial  according  to 
the  object  which  was  represented  to  them. 

“At  the  sight  of  a vision  the  eyelids  of  the  person  are  erected 
and  the  eyes  continue  staring  until  the  object  vanishes.  This 
is  obvious  to  others  who  are  standing  by  when  the  persons 
happen  to  see  a vision;  and  occurred  more  than  once  to  my 
own  observation,  and  to  others  that  were  with  me. 

“ There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquaintance  observed, 
that  when  he  sees  a vision  the  inner  part  of  his  eyelids  turns 
so  far  upwards,  that,  after  the  object  disappears,  he  must  draw 


NOTES. 


403 


them  down  with  his  fingers,  and  sometimes  employ  others  to 
draw  them  down,  which  he  finds  to  be  much  the  easier  way. 

“This  faculty  of  the  second  sight  does  not  lineally  descend 
in  a family,  as  some  have  imagined ; for  I know  several  parents 
who  are  endowed  with  it,  and  their  children  are  not ; and 
vice  versa.  Neither  is  it  acquired  by  any  previous  compact. 
And  after  strict  inquiry,  I could  never  learn  from  any  among 
them,  that  this  faculty" was  communicable  to  any  whatsoever. 
The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor  place  of  a vision 
before  it  appears:  and  the  same  object  is  often  seen  by  differ- 
ent persons  living  at  a considerable  distance  from  one  another. 
The  true  way  of  judging  as  to  the  time  and  circumstances  is 
by  observation ; for  several  persons  of  judgment  who  are  with- 
out this  faculty  are  more  capable  to  judge  of  the  design  of  a 
vision  than  a novice  that  is  a seer.  If  an  object  appear  'ti 
the  day  or  night,  it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  or  later  accord- 
ingly. 

“ If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  a morning,  which  is  not  fre- 
quent, it  will  be  accomplished  in  a few  hours  afterwards  ; if 
at  noon,  it  will  probably  be  accomplished  that  very  day  ; if 
in  the  evening,  perhaps  that  night  ; if  after  candles  be  light- 
ed, it  will  be  accomplished  that  night  ; the  latter  always  an 
accomplishment  by  weeks,  months,  and  sometimes  years, 
according  to  the  time  of  the  night  the  vision  is  seen. 

“ When  a shroud  is  seen  about  one,  it  is  a sure  prognostic 
of  death.  The  time  is  judged  according  to  the  height  of  it 
about  the  person  ; for  if  it  is  not  seen  above  the  middle,  death 
is  not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of  a year,  and  perhaps 
some  months  longer  : and  as  it  is  frequently  seen  to  ascend 
higher  towards  the  head,  death  is  concluded  to  be  at  hand 
within  a few  days,  if  not  hours,  as  daily  experience  confirms. 
Examples  of  this  kind  were  shown  "me,  when  the  person 
of  whom  the  observations  were  then  made  was  in  perfect 
health. 

“ It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gardens,  and  trees 
in  places  void  of  all  these,  and  this  in  process  of  time  is  wont 
to  be  accomplished  : as  at  ^logslot,  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  where 
there  were  but  a few  sorry  low  houses,  thatched  with  straw  ; 
yet  in  a few  years  the  vision,  which  appeared  often,  was  ac- 
complished by  the  building  of  several  good  houses  in  the 
very  spot  represented  to  the  seers,  and  by  the  planting  of 
orchards  there. 

“ To  see  a spark  of  fire  is  a forerunner  of  a dead  child,  to 
be  seen  in  the  arms  of  those  persons  ; of  which  there  are 
several  instances.  To  see  a seat  empty  at  the  time  of  sitting 
in  it,  is  a presage  of  that  person’s  death  quickly  after  it. 

“ When  a novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  obtained  the  second 
sight,  sees  a vision  in  the  night-time  without  doors,  and 
comes  near  a fire,  he  presently  falls  into  a swoon. 

“ Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a crowd  of  people 


404 


NOTES. 


having  a corpse,  which  they  carry  along  with  them  ; and 
after  such  visions  the  seers  corne  in  sweating,  and  de- 
scribe the  vision  that  appeared.  If  there  be  any  of  their 
acquaintance  among  them,  they  give  an  account  of  their 
names,  as  also  of  the  bearers  ; but  they  know  nothing  con 
corning  the  corpse.’’ 

Horses  and  cows  (according  to  the  same  credulous  author j 
nave  certainly  sometimes  the  same  faculty  ; and  he  endea- 
vours to  prove  it  by  the  signs  of  fear  which  the  animals  ex- 
hibit, when  second-sighted  persons  see  visions  in  tlie  same 
place. 

“ The  seers  (he  continues)  are  generally  illiterate  and  weh- 
meaning  people,  and  altogether  void  of  design  : nor  could  I 
ever  learn  that  any  of  them  ever  made  the  least  gain  by  it  ; 
neither  is  it  reputable  among  them  to  have  that  facultv. 
Besides,  the  people  of  the  Isles  are  not  so  credulous  as  to 
believe  implicitly  before  the  thing  predicted  is  accomplished  ; 
but  when  it  is  actually  accomplished  afterwards,  it  is  not  in 
their  power  to  deny  it,  without  offering  violence  to  their  own 
sense  and  reason.  Besides,  if  the  seers  were  deceivers,  can  it 
be  reasonable  to  imagine  that  all  the  islanders  who  have  not 
the  second  sight  should  combine  together,  and  offer  violence 
to  their  understandings  and  senses,  to  enforce  themselves  to 
believe  a lie  from  age  to  age  V 'fhere  are  several  persons 
among  them  whose  title  and  education  raise  them  above  the 
suspicion  of  concurring  with  an  impostor  merely  to  gratity 
an  illiterate  contemptible  set  of  persons  ; nor  can  reasonable 
persons  believe  that  children,  horses,  and  cows,  should  be 
preengaged  in  a combination  in  favour  of  the  second  sight.” 
MartiiVs  Description  of  the  Western  Isles  of  Scotland^  p.  3.  11. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

Page  142,  line  6. 

From  merry  mock  bird's  song, 

The  mocking-bird  is  of  the  form  of,  but  larger  than,  the 
th.msh  ; and  the  colours  are  a mixture  of  black,  white,  and 
gray.  What  is  said  of  the  nightingale  by  its  greatest  ad- 
mirers is  what  may  with  more  proi)riety  apply  to  this  bird, 
who,  in  a natural  state,  sings  with  very  superior  taste.  To- 
wards evening  I have  heard  one  begin  softly,  reserving  its 
breath  to  swell  certain  notes,  which,  by  this  means,  had  a 
most  astonishing  effect.  A gentleman  in  London  had  one  of 
these  birds  for  six  years.  During  the  space  of  a minute 


NOTES. 


405 


he  was  heard  to  imitate  the  woodlark,  chaffinch,  blackbird, 
thrush,  and  sparrow.  In  this  country  (America)  I have  fre- 
quently known  the  mocking-birds  so  engaged  in  this  mimicry, 
that  it  was  with  much  difficulty  I could  ever  obtain  an  op- 
portunity of  hearing  their  own  natural  note.  Some  go  so  far 
as  to  say,  that  they  have  neither  peculiar  notes,  nor  favourite 
imitations.  This  may  be  denied.  Their  few  natural  notes 
resemble  those  of  the  (European)  nightingale.  Their  song, 
however,  has  a gi'eater  compass  and  volume  than  the  night- 
ingale’s, and  they  have  the  faculty  of  varying  all  intermediate 
notes  in  a manner  which  is  truly  delightful. — Ashe's  Travels 
in  America^  vol.  ii.  p.  73. 

Page  143.  line  5. 

And  distant  isles  that  hear  the  loud  Corbrechtan  roar  ! 

Tne  Corybrechtan,  or  Corbrechtan,  is  a whirlpool  on  the 
western  coast  of  Scotland,  near  the  island  of  Jura,  which  is 
heard  at  a prodigious  distance.  Its  name  signifies  the  whirl- 
pool of  the  Prince  of  Denmark  ; and  there  is  a tradition  that 
a Danish  prince  once  undertook,  for  a wager,  to  cast  anchor 
in  it.  He  is  said  to  have  used  woollen  instead  of  hempen 
ropes,  lor  greater  strength,  but  perished  in  the  attempt.  On 
the  shores  of  Argyleshire,  I have  often  listened  with  great 
delight  to  the  sound  of  this  vortex,  at  the  distance  of  many 
leagues.  When  the  weather  is  calm,  and  the  adjacent  sea 
scarcely  heard  on  these  picturesque  shores,  its  sound,  which 
is  like  the  sound  of  innumerable  chariots,  creates  a magnificent 
and  fine  effect. 

Page  146,  line  4. 

Of  huskin' d limb,  and  swarthy  lineament ; 

In  the  Indian  tribes  there  is  a great  similarity  in  their 
colour,  stature,  &c.  They  are  all,  except  the  Snake  Indians, 
tall  in  stature,  straight,  and  robust.  It  is  very  seldom  they 
are  deformed,  which  has  given  rise  to  the  supposition  that 
they  put  to  death  their  deformed  children.  Their  skin  is  of 
a copper  colour  ; their  eyes  large,  bright,  black,  and  spark- 
ling, indicative  of  a subtle  and  discerning  mind : their  hair  is 
of  the  same  colour,  and  prone  to  be  long,  seldom  or  never 
curled.  Their  teeth  are  large  and  white  ; I never  observed 
any  decayed  among  them,  which  makes  their  breath  as 
sweet  as  the  air  th^  inhale. — Travels  through  America  by 
Captains  Lewis  and  Clarke,  in  1804-5-6. 

Page  146,  line  16. 

“ Peace  be  to  thee  ! my  words  this  belt  approve ; 

The  Indians  of  North  America  accompany  every  formal  ad 


406 


NOTES. 


dress  to  strangers,  with  whom  they  fonn  or  recognize  a treaty 
of  amity,  with  a present  of  a string,  or  belt,  of  wampum. 
Wampum  (says  Cadwallader  Golden)  is  made  of  the  large 
whelk  shell,  buccinum^  and  shaped  like  long  beads  : it  is  the 
current  money  of  the  Indians. — History  of  the  Five  Indian  Na- 
tions, p.  34.  New  York  edition. 


Page  146,  line  17. 

The  pjihs  of  peace  my  steps  have  hither  led : 

In  relating  an  interview  of  Mohawk  Indians  with  the 
Governor  of  New  York,  Golden  quotes  the  following  passage 
as  a specimen  of  their  metaphorical  manner  : “ Where  shall 
I seek  the  chair  of  peace  V Where  shall  I find  it  but  upon 
our  path  ? and  whither  doth  our  path  lead  us  but  unto  this 
house  ? ” 


Page  146,  line  22. 

Our  wampum  league  thy  brethren  did  embrace : 

When  they  solicit  the  alliance,  offensive  or  defensive,  of  a 
whole  nation,  they  send  an  embassy  with  a large  belt  of 
wampum  and  a bloody  hatchet,  inviting  them  to  come  and 
drink  the  blood  of  their  enemies.  The  wampum  made  use  of 
on  these  and  other  occasions,  before  their  acquaintance  with 
the  Europeans,  was  nothing  but  small  shells  which  they  pick- 
ed up  by  the  sea-coasts,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  lakes  ; and 
now  it  is  nothing  but  a kind  of  cylindrical  beads,  made  of 
shells,  white  and  black,  which  are  esteemed  among  them  as 
silver  and  gold  are  among  us.  The  black  they  call  the  most 
valuable,  and  both  together  are  their  greatest  riches  and 
ornaments  ; these  among  them  answering  all  the  end  that 
money  does  amongst  us.  They  have  the  art  of  stringing, 
twisting,  and  interweaving  them  into  their  belts,  collars, 
blankets,  and  mocasins,  &c.,  in  ten  thousand  different  sizes, 
forms,  and  figures,  so  as  to  be  ornaments  for  every  part  of 
dress,  and  expressive  to  them  of  all  their  important  trans 
actions.  They  dye  the  wampum  of  various  colours  and 
shades,  and  mix  and  dispose  them  with  great  ingenuity  and 
order,  and  so  as  to  be  significant  among  themselves  of  almost 
every  thing  they  please  ; so  that  by  these  their  words  are 
kept,  and  their  thoughts  communicated  to  one  another,  as 
ours  are  by  writing.  The  belts  that  pass  from  one  nation  to 
another  in  ail  treaties,  declarations,  and  important  transac- 
tions, are  very  carefully  preserved  in  the  cabins  of  their 
chiefs,  and  serve  not  only  as  a kind  of  record  or  history,  but 
as  a public  treasure. — Major  Rogers's  Account  of  North 
America. 


NOTES. 


407 


Page  147,  line  20. 
when  the  evil  Manitou 

It  is  certain  the  Indians  acknowledge  one  Supreme  Being, 
'r  Giver  of  Life,  who  presides  over  all  things  ; that  is,  the 
Great  Spirit,  and  they  look  up  to  him  as  the  source  of  good, 
from  whence  no  evil  can  proceed.  They  also  believe  in  a 
bad  Spirit,  to  whom  they  ascribe  great  power  ; and  suppose 
that  through  his  power  all  the  evils  which  befall  mankind 
are  inflicted.  To  him,  therefore,  they  pray  in  their  distresses, 
begging  that  he  would  either  avert  their  troubles,  or  mo- 
derate them  when  they  are  no  longer  avoidable. 

They  hold  also  that  there  are  good  Spirits  of  a lower  degree, 
who  have  their  particular  departments,  in  w^hich  they  are 
constantly  contributing  to  the  happiness  of  mortals.  These 
they  suppose  to  preside  over  all  the  extraordinary  produc- 
tions of  Nature,  such  as  those  lakes,  rivers,  and  mountains 
that  are  of  an  uncommon  magnitude  ; and  likewise  the 
beasts,  birds,  fishes,  and  even  vegetables  or  stones,  that  ex- 
ceed the  rest  of  their  species  in  size  or  singularity. — Clarke's 
Travels  amony  the  Indians. 

The  Supreme  Spirit  of  Good  is  called  by  the  Indians, 
Kitciii  Manitou  ; and  the  Spirit  of  Evil,  Match!  Manitou. 

Page  148,  line  12. 

Of  fever-balm  and  sweet  sagamite : 

The  fever-balm  is  a medicine  used  by  these  tribes  ; it  is  a 
decoction  of  a bush  called  the  Fever  Tree.  Sagamite  is  a 
kind  of  soup  administered  to  their  sick. 

Page  148,  line  21. 

And  /,  the  eagle  of  my  tribe^  have  rush'd 

With  this  lorn  dove. 

The  testimony  of  all  travellers  among  the  American  Indi- 
ans who  mention  their  hieroglyphics,  authorizes  me  in  putting 
this  figurative  language  in  the  mouth  of  Outalissi.  The  dove 
is  among  them,  as  elsewhere,  an  emblem  of  meekness  ; and 
the  eagle,  that  of  a bold,  noble,  and  liberal  mind.  When  the 
Indians  speak  of  a warrior  who  soars  above  the  multitude  in 
person  and  endowments,  they  say,  “ he  is  like  the  eagle,  who 
destroys  his  enemies,  and  gives  protection  and  abunclance  to 
the  weak  of  his  own  tribe.” 

Page  149,  last  line. 

Far  differently,  the  mute  Oneyda  took,  ^c. 

They  are  extremely  circumspect  and  deliberate  in  every 


4.08 


NOTES. 


word  and  action  ; nothing  hurries  them  into  any  intemperate 
wrath,  but  that  inveteracy  to  their  enemies  which  is  rooted 
in  every  Indian’s  breast.  In  all  other  instances  they  are  cool 
and  deliberate,  taking  care  to  suppress  the  emotions  of  the 
heart.  If  an  Indian  has  discovered  that  a friend  of  his  is  in 
danger  of  being  cut  off  by  a lurking  enemy,  he  does  not  tell 
him  of  his  danger  in  direct  terms  as  thougli  he  were  in  fear, 
but  he  first  coolly  asks  him  which  way  he  is  going  that  day, 
and  having  his  answer,  with  the  same  indifference  tells  him 
that  he  has  been  informed  that  a noxious  beast  lies  on  the 
route  he  is  going.  This  hint  proves  sufficient,  and  his  frieiid 
avoids  the  danger  with  as  much  caution  as  though  every 
design  and  motion  of  his  enemy  had  been  pointed  out  to  him. 

If  an  Indian  has  been  engaged  for  several  days  in  the  chase, 
and  by  accident  continued  long  without  food,  when  he  arrives 
at  the" hut  of  a friend,  where  he  knows  that  his  wants  will  be 
immediately  supplied,  he  takes  care  not  to  show  the  least 
symptoms  of  impatience,  or  betray  the  extreme  hunger  that 
he  is  tortured  with;  but  on  being  invited  in,  sits  contentedly 
down,  and  smokes  his  pipe  with  as  much  composure  as  if  his 
appetite  was  cloyed  and  he  was  perfectly  at  ease.  He  does 
the  same  if  among  strangers.  This  custom  is  strictly  adhered 
to  by  every  tribe,  as  they  esteem  it  a proof  of  fortitude,  and 
think  the  reverse  would  entitle  them  to  the  appellation  of  old 
women. 

If  you  tell  an  Indian  that  his  children  have  greatly  signal- 
ized themselves  against  an  enemy,  have  taken  many  scalps, 
and  brought  home  many  prisoners,  he  does  not  appear  to  feel 
any  strong  emotions  of  pleasure  on  the  occasion;  his  answer 
generally  is, — “ They  have  done  well,”  and  he  makes  but 
very  little  inquiry  about  the  matter;  on  the  contrary,  if  you 
inform  him  that  his  children  are  slain  or  taken  prisoners,  he 
makes  no  complaints;  he  only  replies,  “It  is  unfortunate : ” 
and  for  some  time  asks  no  questions  about  how  it  happened. 
Lewis  and  Clarice's  Travels. 

Page  150,  line  1. 

His  calumet  of  peace^  <^c. 

Nor  is  the  calumet  of  less  importance  or  less  revered  than 
the  wampum  in  many  transactions  relative  both  to  peace  and 
war.  The  bowl  of  this  pipe  is  made  of  a kind  of  soft  red 
stone,  which  is  easily  wrought  and  hollowed  out;  the  stem  is 
of  cane,  alder,  or  some  kind  of  light  wood,  painted  with  differ- 
ent colours,  and  decorated  with  the  heads,  tails,  and  feathers 
of  the  most  beautiful  birds.  The  use  of  the  calumet  is  to 
smoke  either  tobacco  or  some  bark,  leaf,  or  herb,  which  they 
often  use  instead  of  it,  when  they  enter  into  an  alliance  on 
any  serious  occasion,  or  solemn  engagements;  this  being 
among  them  the  most  sacred  oath  that  can  be  taken,  the  vio* 


NOTES. 


40i) 


lation  of  which  is  esteemed  most  infamous,  and  deserving  of 
severe  punishmeiit  from  Heaven.  When  they  treat  of  war, 
the  whole  pipe  and  all  its  ornaments  are  red:  sometimes  it  is 
red  only  on  one  side,  and  by  the  disposition  of  the  feathers. 
&c.  one  acquainted  with  their  customs  will  know  at  first 
sight  what  the  nation  who  presents  it  intends  or  desires. 
Smoking  the  calumet  is  also  a religious  ceremony  on  some 
occasions,  and  in  all  treaties  is  considered  as  a witness  be- 
tween the  parties,  or  rather  as  an  instrument  by  which  they 
invoke  the  sun  and  moon  to  witness  their  sincerity,  and  to  be 
as  it  were  a guaranty  of  the  treaty  between  them.  This 
custom  of  the  Indians,  though  to  appearance  somewhat  ridi- 
cmlous,  is  not  without  its  reasons ; for  as  they  find  that  smoking 
tends  to  disperse  the  vapours  of  the  brain,  to  raise  the  spirits, 
and  to  qualify  them  for  thinking  and  judging  properly,  they 
introduce  it  into  their  councils,  where,  after  their  resolves, 
the  pipe  was  considered  as  a seal  of  their  decrees,  and  as  a 
pledge  of  their  performance  thereof,  it  was  sent  to  those  they 
were  consulting,  in  alliance  or  treaty  with; — so  that  smoking 
among  them  at  the  same  pipe,  is  equivalent  to  our  drinking 
together  and  out  of  the  same  cup.  Major  Rogers's  Account 
of  North  America^  1766. 

The  lighted  calumet  is  also  used  among  them  for  a purpose 
still  more  interesting  than  the  expression  of  social  friendship. 
The  austere  manners  of  the  Indians  forbid  any  appearance 
of  gallantry  between  the  sexes  in  the  daytime;  but  at  night 
the  young  lover  goes  a-calumeting,  as  his  courtship  is  called. 
As  these  people  live  in  a state  of  equality,  and  without  fear 
of  internal  violence  or  theft  in  their  own  tribes,  they  leave 
their  doors  open  by  night  as  well  as  by  day.  The  lover  takes 
advantage  of  this  liberty,  lights  his  calumet,  enters  the  cabin 
of  his  mistress,  and  gently  presents  it  to  her.  If  she  extin- 
guish it,  she  admits  his  addresses;  but  if  she  suffer  it  to  burn 
unnoticed,  he  retires  with  a disappointed  and  throbbing  heart 
Ashe's  Travels. 


Page  150,  line  4. 

Train'd  from  his  tree-roch'd  cradle  to  his  bier 

An  Indian  child,  as  soon  as  he  is  born,  is  swathed  witli 
clothes,  or  skins;  and  being  laid  on  his  back,  is  bound  down 
on  a piece  of  thick  board,  spread  over  with  soft  moss.  The 
board  is  somewhat  larger  and  broader  than  the  child,  and  bent 
pieces  of  wood,  like  pieces  of  hoops,  are  placed  over  its  face 
to  protect  it,  so  that  if  the  machine  vv'ere  sufiered  to  fall,  the 
child  probably  would  not  be  injured.  When  the  women  have 
any  business  to  transact  at  home,  they  hang  the  boards  on  a 
tree,  if  there  be  one  at  hand,  and  set  them  a-swinging  from 
side  to  side,  like  a pendulum,  in  order  to  exercise  the  children. 
Weldy  vol.  ii.,  p.  246. 


410 


NOTES. 


Page  150,  line  5. 

The  fierce  extreme  of  good  and  ill  to  hrooh 

Impassive 

Of  the  active  as  well  as  passive  fortitude  of  the  Indian 
character,  the  following  is  an  instance  related  by  Adair,  in 
his  Travels: — 

A party  of  the  Senekah  Indians  came  to  war  against  the 
Kataliba,  bitter  enemies  to  each  other.  In  the  w^oods  the 
former  discovered  a sprightly  warrior  belonging  to  the  latter, 
hunting  in  their  usual  light  dress:  on  his  perceiving  them, 
he  sprung  off  for  a hollow  rock  four  or  five  miles  distant,  as 
they  intercepted  him  from  running  homeward.  He  was  si 
extremely  swift  and  skilful  with  the  gun,  as  to  kill  seven  oi 
them  in  the  running  fight  before  they  were  able  to  surround 
and  take  him.  They  carried  him  to  their  country  in  sad  tri- 
umph;'but  though  he  had  filled  them  with  uncommon  grief 
and  shame  for  the  loss  of  so  many  of  their  kindred,  yet  the 
love  of  martial  virtue  induced  them  to  treat  him,  during 
their  long  journey,  with  a gi'eat  deal  more  civility  than  if 
he  had  acted  the  part  of  a coward.  The  women  and  child- 
ren, when  they  met  him  at  their  several  towns,  beat  him 
and  whipped  him  in  as  severe  a manner  as  the  occasion  re- 
quired, according  to  their  law  of  justice,  and  at  last  he  was 
formally  condemned  to  die  by  the  fiery  torture.  It  might 
reasonably  be  imagined  that  what  he  had  for  some  time  gone 
through,  by  being  fed  with  a scanty  hand,  a tedious  march, 
lying  at  night  on  the  bare  ground,  exposed  to  the  changes  of 
the  weather,  with  his  arms  and  legs  extended  in  a pair  of 
rough  stocks,  and  suffering  such  punishment  on  his  entering 
Into  their  hostile  towns,  as  a prelude  to  those  sharp  torments 
for  which  he  was  destined,  v/ould  have  so  impaired  his  health 
and  affected  his  imagination,  as  to  have  sent  him  to  his  long 
slee}),  out  of  the  way  of  any  more  sufferings.  Probably  this 
wouhl  have  been  the  case  with  the  major  part  of  the  white 
people  under  similar  circumstances;  but  I never  knew  this 
with  any  of  the  Indians ; and  this  cool-headed,  brave  warrior 
did  not  deviate  from  their  rough  lessons  of  martial  virtue, 
but  acted  his  part  so  well  as  to  surprise  and  sorely  vex  his 
numerous  enemies: — for  when  they  were  taking  him,  un- 
pinioned, in  their  wild  parade,  to  the  place  of  torture,  wliich 
lay  near  to  a river,  he  suddenly  dashed  down  those  who  stood 
in" his  way,  sprang  ofi',  and  plunged  into  the  water,  swimming 
underneath  like  an  otter,  only  rising  to  take  breath,  till  he 
reached  the  opposite  shore.  He  now  ascended  the  stcej)  bank, 
but  though  he  had  good  reason  to  be  in  a hurry,  as  many  of 
the  enemy  were  in  the  water,  and  others  running,  very  like 
bloodhounds,  in  pursuit  of  him,  and  the  bullets  flying  around 
ttim  from  the  time  he  took  to  the  river,  yet  his  iieart  did  not 


NOTES. 


411 


allow  him  to  leave  them  abruptly,  without  taking  leave  in  a 
formal  manner,  in  return  for  the"  extraordinary  favours  they 
had  done,  and  intended  to  do  him.  After  slapping  a part  of 
his  body  in  defiance  to  them  (continues  the  author),  he  put 
up  the  shrill  war-whoop,  as  his  last  salute,  till  some  more 
convenient  opportunity  offered,  and  darted  off  in  the  manner 
of  a beast  broke  loose  from  its  torturing  enemies.  He  con- 
tinued his  speed  so  as  to  run  by  about  midnight  of  the  same 
day  as  far  as  his  eager  pursuers  were  two  days  in  reaching. 
There  he  rested  till  he  happily  discovered  five  of  those  Indians 
who  had  pursued  him : — he  lay  hid  a little  way  off  their  camp, 
till  they  were  sound  asleep.  Every  circumstance  of  his  situ- 
ation occurred  to  him,  and  inspired  him  with  heroism.  He 
was  naked,  tom,  and  hungry,  and  his  enraged  enemies  were 
come  up  with  him ; — ^but  there  was  now  every  thing  to  roiieve 
his  wants,  and  a fair  opportunity  to  save  his  life,  and  get 
great  honour  and  sweet  revenge,  by  cutting  them  off.  Reso- 
lution, a convenient  spot,  and  sudden  surprise,  w'ould  effect 
the  main  object  of  all  his  wishes  and  hopes.  He  accordingly 
crept,  took  one  of  their  tomahawks,  and  killed  them  all  on 
the  spot, — clothed  himself,  took  a choice  gun,  and  as  much 
ammunition  and  provisions  as  he  could  well  carry  in  a run- 
ning march.  He  set  off  afresh  with  a light  heart,  and  did 
not  sleep  for  several  successive  nights,  only  when  he  reclined, 
as  usual,  a little  before  day,  with  his  back  to  a tree.  As  it 
were  by  instinct,  when  he  found  he  was  free  from  the  pursu- 
ing enemy,  he  made  directly  to  the  very  place  where  he  had 
killed  seven  of  his  enemies,  and  was  taken  by  them  for  the 
fiery  torture.  He  digged  them  up,  burnt  their  bodies  to 
ashes,  and  went  home  in  safety  with  singular  triumph. 
Other  pursuing  enemies  came,  on  the  evening  of  the  second 
day,  to  the  camp  of  their  dead  people,  when  the  sight  gave 
them  a greater  shock  than  they  had  ever  known  belbre.  In 
their  chilled  war-council  they  concluded,  that  as  he  had  done 
such  surprising  things  in  his  defence  before  he  was  captivated, 
and  since  that  in  his  naked  condition,  and  now  was  veil- 
armed,  if  they  continued  the  pursuit  he  would  spoil  them  all, 
for  he  surely  was  an  enemy  wizard, — and  therefore  they 
returned  home. — Adair's  General  Observations  on  the  Ameri- 
can Indians^  p.  394. 

It  i.s  surprising  (says  the  same  author)  to  see  the  long-con- 
tinued speed  of  the  Indians.  Though  some  of  us  have  often 
run  the  swiftest  of  them  out  of  sight  for  about  the  distance 
of  twelve  miles,  yet  afterwards,  without  any  seeming  toil, 
they  would  stretch  on,  leave  us  out  of  sight,  and  outwind 
any  horse. — Jbid.  p.  318. 

if  an  Indian  were  driven  out  into  the  extensive  woods,  with 
onl}^  a knife  and  a tomahawk,  or  a small  hatchet,  it  is  not  to 
be  doubted  but  he  would  fatten  even  where  a wolf  would 
starve.  He  would  soon  collect  fire  by  rubbing  two  dry  pieces 


412 


NOTES. 


of  wood  together,  make  a bark  hut,  earthen  vessels,  and  a 
bow  and  arrows ; then  kill  wild  game,  fish,  fresh-water  tor- 
toises, gather  a plentiful  variety  of  vegetables,  and  live  in 
affluence. — Ibid.  p.  410. 

Page  150,  line  3. 

Mocaslns  are  a sort  of  Indian  buskins. 

Page  150,  line  14. 

^'Sleep^  wearied  one!  and  in  the  dreaming  land 
Shouldst  thou  to-morrow  with  thy  mother  meet., 

There  is  nothing  (says  Charlevoix)  in  which  these  barba- 
rians carry  their  superstitions  farther  than  in  what  regards 
dreams;  but  they  vary  greatly  in  their  manner  of  explaining 
themselves  on  this  point.  Sometimes  it  is  the  reasonable  soul 
which  ranges  abroad,  while  the  sensitive  continues  to  ani- 
mate the  body.  Sometimes  it  is  the  familiar  genius  who 
gives  salutary  counsel  with  respect  to  what  is  going  to  hap- 
pen. Sometimes  it  is  a visit  made  by  the  soul  of  the  object 
of  vvdiich  he  dreams.  But  in  whatever  manner  the  dream  is 
conceived,  it  is  always  looked  upon  as  a thing  sacred,  and  as 
the  most  ordinary  way  in  w^hich  the  gods  make  known  their 
will  to  men.  Filled  with  this  idea,  they  cannot  conceive  how 
we  should  pay  no  regard  to  them.  For  the  most  part  they 
look  upon  them  either  as  a desire  of  the  soul,  inspired  by 
some  genius,  or  an  order  from  him,  and  in  consequence  of 
this  principle  they  hold  it  a religious  duty  to  obey  them  An 
Indian  having  dreamt  of  having  a finger  cut  off,  had  it  really 
cut  off  as  soon  as  he  awoke,  having  first  prepared  himself  for 
this  important  action  by  a feast.  Another  having  dreamt  of 
being  a prisoner,  and  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  was  much 
at  a loss  what  to  do.  He  consulted  the  jugglers,  and  by  their 
advice  caused  himself  to  be  tied  to  a post,  and  burnt  in  several 
parts  of  the  body. — Chai-levoix.,  Journal  of  a Voyage  to  North 
America. 

Page  150,  last  line. 

From  a flower  shaped  like  a horn,  which  Chateaubriand 
presumes  to  be  of  the  lotus  kind,  the  Indians  in  their  travels 
through  the  desert  often  find  a draught  of  dew  purer  than 
any  other  water. 


Page  151,  line  11. 

The  crocodile,  the  condor  of  the  rock, 

The  alligator,  or  American  crocodile,  when  full  grown  (says 
Bertram,)  is  a very  large  and  terrible  creature,  and  of  prodi- 
gious strength,  activity,  and  swiftness  in  the  water.  1 have 


NOTES. 


4ia 


^oe.'i  them  twenty  feet  in  length,  and  some  are  supposed  to  be 
twenty-bwo  or  twentj^-three  feet  in  length.  Their  body  is  as 
large  as  that  of  a horse,  their  shape  usually  resembles  that  of 
a lizard,  which  is  flat,  or  cuneiform,  being  compressed  on 
each  side,  and  gradually  diminishing  from  the  abdomen  to 
tlie  extremity,  which,  with  the  whole  body,  is  covered  with 
horny  plates,  or  squamae,  impenetrable  when  on  the  body  of 
the  live  animal,  even  to  a rifle  ball,  except  about  their  head, 
and  just  behind  their  fore-legs  or  arms,  where,  it  is  said,  they 
are  only  vulnerable.  The  head  of  a full-grown  one  is  about 
three  feet,  and  the  mouth  opens  nearly  the  same  lengdi. 
Their  eyes  are  small  in  proportion,  and  seem  sunk  in  the 
head,  by  means  of  the  prominency  of  the  brows;  the  nostrils 
are  large,  inflated,  and  prominent  on  the  top,  so  that  the  head 
on  the  water  resembles,  at  a distance,  a great  chunk  of  wood 
floating  about:  only  the  upper  jaw  moves,  which  they  raise 
almost  perpendicular,  so  as  to*  form  a right  angle  with  the 
lower  one.  In  the  forepart  of  the  upper  jaw,  on  each  side, 
just  under  the  nostrils,  are  two  very  large,  thick,  strong  teeth, 
or  tusks,  not  very  sharp,  but  rather  the  shape  of  a cone: 
these  are  as  white  as  the  finest  polished  ivory,  and  are  not 
covered  by  any  skin  or  lips,  but  always  in  sight,  which  gives 
the  creature  a frightful  appearance:  in  the  lower  jaw  are 
holes  opposite  to  these  teeth  to  receive  them;  when  they  clap 
their  jaws  together,  it  causes  a surprising  noise,  like  that 
which  is  made  by  forcing  a heavy  plank  with  violence  ufion 
the  ground,  and  may  be  heard  at  a great  distance.  But  what 
is  yet  more  surprising  to  a stranger,  is  the  incredibly  loud 
and  terrifying  roar  which  they  are  capable  of  making,  espe- 
cially ill  breeding-time.  It  most  resembles  very  heavy  distant 
thunder,  not  only  shaking  the  air  and  waters,  but  causing 
tbe  eartli  to  tremble;  and  when  hundreds  are  roaring  at  the 
same  time,  you  can  scarcely  be  persuaded  but  that  the  whole 
g’lobe  is  violently  and  dangerously  agitated.  An  old  cham- 
pion, who  is,  perhaps,  absolute  sovereign  of  a little  lake  or 
lagoon,  ( when  fifty  less  than  himself  are  obliged  to  content 
themselves  with  swelling  and  roaring  in  little  coves  round 
about,)  darts  forth  from  the  reedy  coverts,  all  at  once,  on  the 
surface  of  the  waters  in  aright  line,  at  first  seemingly  as  rapid 
as  lightning,  but  gradually  more  slowly,  until  he  arrives  at 
tne  centre  oi‘  the  lake,  where  he  stops.  He  now  swells  him- 
sell'  by  drawing  in  wind  and  water  through  his  mouth,  which 
causes  a loud  sonorous  rattling  in  the  throat  for  near  a 
minute;  but  it  is  immediately  forced  out  again  through  his 
mouth  and  nostrils  with  a loud  noise,  brandishing  his  tail  ir 
the  air,  and  the  vapour  running  from  his  nostrils  like  smoke 
At  other  times,  when  swoln  to  an  extent  ready  to  burst,  his 
liead  and  tail  dfted  up,  he  spins  or  twir'.s  round  on  tbe  sur- 
face of  the  water.  He  acts  his  part  like  an  Indian  chief, 
v\ hen  rehearsing  his  feats  of  war. — Bertram^ a 'J’racels  m 


414 


NOTES. 


Page  161,  line  13. 

Then  forth  uprose  that  lone  way  faring  man; 

'riiey  discover  an  amazing  sagacity,  and  acquire,  with  the 
greatest  readiness,  any  thing  that  depends  upon  the  attention 
of  the  mind.  By  experience,  and  an  acute  observation,  they 
attain  many  perfections  to  which  the  Amerians  are  strangers. 
For  instance,  they  will  cross  a forest  or  a plain,  which  is  two 
hundred  miles  in  bread th,^  so  as  to  reach  with  great  exactness 
the  point  at  which  they  intend  to  arrive,  keeping,  during  the 
whole  of  that  space,  in  a direct  line,  without  any  material 
deviations;  and  this  they  will  do  with  the  same  ease,  let  the 
weather  be  fair  or  cloudy.  With  equal  acuteness  they  will 
point  to  that  part  of  the  heavens  the.  sun  is  in,  though  it  be 
intercepted  by  clouds  or  fogs.  Besides  this,  they  are  able  to 
pursue,  with  incredible  facility,  the  traces  of  man  or  beast, 
either  on  leaves  or  grass;  and  on  this  account  it  is  with  great 
difficulty  they  escape  discovery.  They  are  indebted  for  these 
talents  not  only  to  nature,  but  to  an  extraordinary  command 
of  tne  intellectual  qualities,  which  can  only  be  acquired  by 
an  unremitted  attention,  and  by  long  experience.  They  are, 
in  general,  very  happy  in  a retentive  memory.  They  can 
recapitulate  every  particular  that  has  been  treated  of  in 
councils,  and  remember  the  exact  time  when  they  were  held. 
Their  belts  of  wampum  preserve  the  substance  of  the  treaties 
they  have  concluded  with  the  neighbouring  tribes  for  ages 
back,  to  which  they  will  appeal  and  refer  with  as  much  per- 
spicuity and  readiness  as  Europeans  can  to  their  written 
records. 

The  Indians  are  totally  unskilled  in  geography,  as  well  as 
all  the  other  sciences,  and  yet  they  draw  on  their  birch-bark 
very  exact  charts  or  maps  of  the  countries  they  are  acquaint- 
ed "with.  The  latitude  and  longitude  only  are  wanting  to 
make  them  tolerably  complete. 

Their  sole  knowledge  in  astronomy  consists  in  being  able 
to  point  out  the  polar  star,  by  which  they  regulate  their  course 
when  they  travel  in  the  night. 

They  reckon  the  distance  of  places  not  by  miles  or  leagues, 
but  by  a day’s  journey,  which,  according  to  the  best  calcula- 
tion I could  make,  appears  to  be  about  twenty  English  miles. 
These  they  also  divide  into  halves  and  quarters,  and  will 
demonstrate  them  in  their  maps  with  great  exactness  by  the 
hieroglyphics  just  mentioned,  when  they  regulate  in  council 
their  war-parties,  or  their  most  distant  hunting  excursions.- 
Levns  and  Clarke's  Travels. 

Some  of  the  French  missionaries  have  supposed  that  the 
Indians  are  guided  by  instinct,  and  have  pretended  that 
Indian  children  can  find  their  way  through  a forest  as  easily 
as  a person  of  maturer  years  ; but  this  is  a most  absurd 


NOTES. 


415 


notion.  It  is  unquestionably  by  a close  attention  to  the 
growth  of  the  trees,  and  position  of  the  sun,  that  they  find 
their  way.  On  the  northern  side  of  a tree  there  is  generally 
the  most  moss:  and  the  bark  on  that  side,  in  general,  differs 
from  that  on  the  opposite  one.  The  branches  toward  the 
south  are,  for  the  most  part,  more  luxuriant  than  those  on  the 
other  sides  of  trees,  and  several  other  distinctions  also  sub- 
sist between  the  northern  and  southern  sides,  conspicuous  to 
Indians,  being  taught  from  their  infancy  to  attend  to  them, 
which  a common  observer  would,  perhaps,  never  notice 
Being  accustomed  from  their  infancy  likewise  to  pay  great 
attention  to  the  position  of  the  sun,  they  learn  to  make  the 
most  accurate  allowance  for  its  apparent  motion  from  one 
part  of  the  heavens  to  another:  and  in  every  part  of  the  day 
they  will  point  to  the  part  of  the  heavens  where  it  is,  ai- 
though  the  sky  be  obscured  by  clouds  or  mists. 

An  instance  of  their  dexterity  in  finding  their  way  through 
an  unknown  country  came  under  my  observation  when  I was 
at  Staunton,  situated  behind  tlie  Blue  Mountains,  Virginia. 
A number  of  the  Creek  nation  had  arrived  at  that  town  on 
their  wa}"  to  Philadelphia,  whither  they  were  going  upon 
some  aft'airs  of  importance,  and  had  stopped  there  for  the 
night.  In  the  morning,  some  circumstance  or  other,  which 
could  not  be  learned,  induced  one  half  of  the  Indians  to  set 
off  without  their  companions,  who  did  not  follow  until  some 
hours  afterwards.  When  these  last  were  ready  to  pursue 
their  journey,  several  of  tlie  towns-people  mounted  their 
horses  to  escort  them  part  of  the  way.  'fhey  proceeded 
along  the  high  road  for  some  miles,  but,  all  at  once,  hastily 
turning  aside  into  the  woods,  though  there  was  no  path,  the 
Indians  advanced  confidently  forward.  The  people  who 
accompanied  them,  surprised  at  this  movement,  informed 
them  that  they  were  quitting  the  road  to  Philadelphia,  and 
expressed  their  fear  least  they  should  miss  their  companions 
who  had  gone  on  before.  I'hey  answered  that  tliey  knew 
better,  that  the  way  through  tlie  woods  was  the  shortest  to 
Philadelphia,  and  that  they  knew  very  well  that  their  com- 
panions had  entered  the  wood  at  the  very  jilace  where  they 
did.  Curiosity  led  some  of  the  horsemen  to  go  on  ; and  to 
their  astonishment,  for  there  was  apparently  no  track,  they 
overtook  the  other  Indians  in  the  thickest  part  of  the  wood 
But  what  appeared  most  singular  was,  that  the  route  which 
they  took  was  found,  on  examining  a map,  to  be  as  direct 
for  Philadelphia  as  if  they  had  taken  the  bearings  by  a man- 
ner’s coinjiass.  From  others  of  their  nation,  who  had  been 
at  Philadelphia  at  a former  period,  they  had  probably  learned 
the  exact  direction  of  that  cuy  from  their  villages,  and  liad 
never  lost  sight  of  it,  although  they  had  already  travelled 
three  hundred  miles  through  the  woods,  and  had  upwards  of 
four  hundred  miles  mt're  to  go  before  they  could  reach  the 


416 


NOTES. 


place  of  their  destination.  Of  the  exactness  with  which  the} 
can  find  out  a strange  place  to  which  they  have  been  once 
directed  by  their  own  people,  a striking  example  is  furnished 
I think,  by  Mr.  Jefferson,  in  his  ac;‘Ouiit  of  the  Indian  graves 
in  Virginia.  These  graves  are  nothing  more  than  large 
mounds  of  earth  in  the  woods,  which,  on  being  opened,  are 
found  to  contain  skeletons  in  an  erect  posture:  the  Indian 
mode  of  sepulture  has  been  too  often  described  to  remain  un- 
known to  you.  But  to  come  to  my  story.  A party  of  Indians 
that  were  passing  on  to  some  of  the  seaports  on  the  Atlantic, 
just  as  the  Creeks  above  mentioned  were  going  to  Philadel- 
phia, were  observed,  all  on  a sudden,  to  quit  the  straight  road 
1)3  which  the}"  were  proceeding,  and  without  asking  any 
questions  to  strike  through  the  woods,  in  a direct  line,  to  one 
of  these  graves,  which  lay  at  the  distance  of  some  miles  from 
the  road.  Now  very  near  a century  must  have  passed  over 
since  the  part  of  Virginia  in  which  this  grave  was  situated 
bad  been  inhabited  by  Indians,  and  these  Indian  travellers, 
who  were  to  visit  it  by  themselves,  had  unquestionably  never 
been  in  that  part  of  the  country  before:  they  must  have 
found  their  way  to  it  simply  from  the  description  of  its  situa- 
tion, that  had  been  handed  down  to  them  by  tradition.— 
Weld'a  Travels  in  Noiih  America^  vol.  ii. 

Page  156,  line  12. 

Their  fathers'  dust 

It  is  a custom  of  the  Indian  tribes  to  visit  the  tombs  of  their 
ancestors  in  the  cultivated  parts  of  America,  who  liave  been 
buried  for  upwards  of  a century. 

Page  159,  line  8. 

Or  wild-cane  arch  high  fiung  o'er  gulf  profound^ 

The  bridges  over  narrow  streams  in  many  parts  of  Spanish 
America  are  said  to  be  built  of  cane,  whicli,  liowever  strong 
to  support  the  passengers,  are  yet  waved  in  the  agitation  of 
the  storm,  and  frequently  add  to  the  effect  of  a mountainous 
and  picturesque  sceneiy. 

Page  169,  line  17. 

The  Mammoth  comes, 

That  I am  justified  in  making  the  Indian  chief  allude  to 
the  mammoth  as  an  emblem  of  terror  and  destruction,  will 
be  seen  by  the  authority  quoted  below.  Speaking  of  the 
mammoth  or  big  buffalo,  Mr.  Jefferson  states,  that  a tradition 
is  preserved  among  the  Indians  of  that  animal  still  existing 
in  the  northern  parts  of  America. 


NOTES. 


417 


“A  delegation  of  warriors  from  the  Delaware  tribe  having 
visited  the  governor  of  Virginia  during  the  revolution,  on 
matters  of  business,  the  governor  asked  them  some  ques- 
tions relative  to  their  country,  and,  among  others,  what  they 
knew  or  had  heard  of  the  animal  whose  bones  were  found  at 
the  Salt-licks,  on  the  Ohio.  Their  chief  speaker  immediately 
put  himself  into  an  attitude  of  oratory,  and  with  a pomp 
suited  to  what  he  conceived  the  elevation  of  his  subject,  in 
foiTned  him  that  it  was  a tradition  handed  down  from  their 
fathers,  that  in  ancient  times  a herd  of  these  tremendous 
animals  came  to  the  Big-bone-licks,  and  began  an  universal 
destruction  of  the  bear,  deer,  elk,  buffalo,  and  other  animals 
which  had  been  created  for  the  use  of  the  Indians.  That  the 
Great  Man  above  looking  down  and  seeing  this,  was  so  en- 
raged, that  he  seized  his  lightning,  descended  on  the  earth, 
seated  himself  on  a neighbouring  mountain,  on  a rock  on 
which  his  seat  and  the  prints  of  his  feet  are  still  to  be 
seen,  and  hurled  his  bolts  among  them,  till  the  whole  were 
slaughtered,  except  the  big  bull,  who,  presenting  his  fore- 
head to  the  shafts,  shook  them  off  as  they  fell,  but  missing 
one  at  length  it  wounded  him  in  the  side,  whereon,  springing 
round,  he  bounded  over  the  Ohio,  over  the  Wabash,  the 
Illinois,  and  finally  over  the  great  lakes,  where  he  is  living  at 
this  day.” — Jefferson's  Notes  on  Virginia. 


Page  169,  line  25. 

Scorning  to  wield  the  hatchet  for  his  hribe^ 

'Gainst  Brandt  himself  I went  to  battle  foiih  : 

I took  the  character  of  Brandt,  in  the  poem  of  Gertrude, 
from  the  common  Histories  of  England,  all  of  which  repre- 
sented him  as  a bloody  and  bad  man,  (even  among  savages,) 
and  chief  agent  in  the  horrible  desolation  of  Wyoming.  Some 
years  after  this  poem  appeared,  the  son  of  Brandt,  a most  in- 
teresting and  intelligent  youth,  came  over  to  England,  and  I 
fonned  an  acquaintance  with  him,  on  which  1 still  look  back 
with  pleasure.  He  appealed  to  mv  sense  of  honour  and 
justice,  on  his  own  part  and  on  that  of  his  sister,  to  retract  the 
unfair  aspersions  which,  unconscious  of  their  unfairness,  I 
had  cast  on  his  father’s  memory. 

Ho  then  referred  me  to  documents,  which  completely  satis- 
fied me  that  the  common  accounts  of  Brandt’s  cruelties  at 
Wyoming,  which  I had  found  in  books  of  Travels  and  in 
Adolphus’s,  and  similar  Histories  of  England,  were  gross 
errors,  and  that  in  point  of  fact  Brandt  was  not  even  present 
at  that  scene  of  desolation. 

It  is,  unhappily,  to  Britons  and  Anglo-Americans  that  we 
must  refer  the  chief  blame  in  this  horrible  business.  I pub- 
lished a letter  expressing  this  belief  in  the  New  MonUdy  Maga- 

27 


418 


NOTES. 


erne,  in  the  year  1822,  to  which  I must  refer  the  reader — if  he 
has  any  curiosity  on  the  subject — for  an  antidote  to  my  fan 
ciful  description  of  Brandt.  Among  other  expressions  to 

fmung  Brandt,  I made  use  of  the  following  words: — “Had  I 
earnt  all  this  of  your  father  when  I was  writing  my  poem, 
he  should  not  have  figured  in  it  as  the  hero  of  mischief.”  It 
was  but  bare  justice  to  say  thus  much  of  a Mohawk  Indian, 
who  spoke  English  eloquently,  and  was  thought  capable  of 
having  written  a history  of  the  Six  Nations.  I ascertained, 
also,  that  he  often  strove  to  mitigate  the  cruelty  of  Indian 
warfare.  The  name  of  Brandt,  therefore,  remains  in  my 
poem  a pure  and  declared  character  of  fiction. 


Page  170,  line  7. 

To  ivhom  nor  relative  nor  blood  remains^ 

No  ! — not  a kindred  drop  that  runs  in  human  veins  I 

Every  one  who  recollects  the  specimen  of  Indian  eloquence 
given  in  the  speech  of  Logan,  a ^lingo  chief,  to  the  governor 
of  Virginia,  will  perceive  that  I have  attempted  to  paraphrase 
its  concluding  and  most  striking  expression: — “There  runs 
not  a drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any  living  creature.” 
The  similar  salutation  of  the  fictitious  personage  in  my  story, 
and  the  real  Indian  orator,  makes  it  surely  allowable"  to  bor- 
row such  an  expression ; and  if  it  appears,  as  it  cannot  but 
appear,  to  less  advantage  than  in  the  original,  I beg  the 
reader  to  reflect  how  difficult  it  is  to  transpose  such  exqui- 
sitely simple  words,  without  sacrificing  a portion  of  their 
effect. 

In  the  spring  of  1774,  a robbery  and  murder  were  com- 
mitted on  an  inhabitant  of  the  frontiers  of  Virginia,  by  two 
Indians  of  the  Shawanee  tribe.  The  neighbouring  whites, 
according  to  their  custom,  undertook  to  punish  this  outrage 
in  a summary  manner.  Colonel  Cresap,  a man  infamous  for 
the  many  murders  he  had  committed  on  those  much  injured 
people,  collected  a party  and  proceeded  down  the  Kanaway 
in  quest  of  vengeance;  unfortunately,  a canoe  with  women 
and  children,  with  one  man  only,  was  seen  coming  from  the 
opposite  shore  unarmed,  and  unsuspecting  an  attack  from 
the  whites.  Cresap  and  his  party  concealed  themselves  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  the  moment  the  canoe  reached  the 
shore,  singled  out  their  objects,  and  at  one  fire  killed  every 
person  in  it.  This  happened  to  be  the  family  of  Logan,  who 
nad  long  been  distinguished  as  a friend  to  the  whites.  This 
unworthy  return  provoked  his  vengeance;  he  accordingly 
signalized  himself  in  the  war  which  ensued.  In  the  autumn 
of  the  same  year  a decisive  battle  was  fought  at  the  mouth 
of  the  great  Kanaway,  in  which  the  collected  forces  of  the 
Shawanees,  Mingoes,  and  Delawares,  were  defeated  by  8 


NOTES. 


419 


detachment  of  the  Virginian  militia.  The  Indians  sued  for 
peace.  Logan,  however,  disdained  to  be  seen  among  the 
suppliants ; but  lest  the  sincerity  of  a treaty  should  be  dis- 
turbed, from  which  so  distinguished  a chief  abstracted  him 
self,  he  sent,  by  a messenger,  the  following  speech  to  be 
delivered  to  Lord  Dunmore: — 

“I  appeal  to  any  white  man  if  ever  he  entered  Logan’s 
cabin  hungry,  andlie  gave  him  not  to  eat;  if  ever  he  came 
cold  and  naked,  and  he  clothed  him  not.  During  the  course 
of  the  last  long  and  bloody  war  Logan  remained  idle  in  his 
cabin,  an  advocate  for  peace.  Such  was  my  love  for  the 
whites,  that  my  countrymen  pointed  as  they  passed,  and 
said,  Logan  is  Ihe  friend  of  the  white  men.  I have  even 
thought  to  have  lived  with  3mu,  but  for  the  injuries  of  one 
man.  Colonel  Cresap,  the  last  spring,  in  cold  blood,  mur- 
dered all  the  relations  of  Logan,  even  mj'-  women  and  child- 
ren. 

“ There  runs  not  a drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any 
living  creature : — this  called  on  me  for  revenge.  I have  fought 
for  it.  I have  killed  man}’’.  I have  fully  glutted  my  ven- 
geance. For  my  country  1 rejoice  at  the  beams  of  peace; — 
but  do  not  harbour  a thought  that  mine  is  the  joy  of  fear. 
Logan  never  felt  fear.  He  will  not  turn  on  his  heel  to  save 
his  life.  Who  is  there  to  mourn  for  Logan V not  one!” — 
Jefferson's  Notes  on  Virginia, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Page  194,  line  4. 

The  dark-attired  Culdee, 

The  Culdees  were  the  primitive  clerg}"  of  Scotland,  and 
apparentl}"  her  only  clergy  from  the  sixth  to  the  eleventh 
century.  They  were  of  Irish  origin,  and  their  monastcr}'^  on 
the  Island  of  Iona,  or  Icolmkill,  was  the  seminary  of  Chris- 
tianit}’  in  North  Britain.  Presbyterian  w'riters  have  wished 
to  prove  them  to  have  been  a sort  of  Presb\’ters,  strangers  1.0 
the  Roman  Church  and  Episcopaev.  It  seems  to  be  esta- 
blished that  the\'  w'ere  not  enemies  to  Episcopac}'; — but  that 
Uiev”  W’ere  not  slavishlv  subjected  to  Rome,  like  the  clergy 
of  later  periods,  appears  b\’  their  resisting  llie  Papal  ordi- 
nances res[)ecting  the  celibacy  of  religious  men,  on  wdiich 
account  they  w’ere  ultimately  displaced  by  the  Scottish  sove- 
reigns to  make  way  for  more  Popish  canons. 


420 


NOTES. 


Page  197,  line  15. 

And  the  shield  of  alarm  was  dumb. 

Striking  the  shield  was  an  ancient  mode  of  convocation  to 
war  among  the  Gael. 


Page  204. 

The  tradition  which  forms  the  substance  of  these  stanzas 
is  still  preserved  in  Germany.  An  ancient  tower  on  a height, 
called  the  Kolandseck,  a few  miles  above  Bonn  on  the  Rhine, 
is  shown  as  the  habitation  which  Roland  built  in  sight  of  a 
nunnery,  into  which  his  mistress  had  retired,  on  having 
heard  an  unfounded  account  of  his  death.  Whatever  may  be 
thought  of  the  credibility  of  the  legend,  its  scenery  must  be 
recollected  with  pleasure  by  every  one  who  has  visited  the 
romantic  landscape  of  the  Drachenfels,  the  Rolandseck,  and 
the  beautiful  adjacent  islet  of  the  Rhine,  where  a nunnery 
still  stands. 

Page  212,  line  14. 

That  erst  the  advenVrous  Norman  worCj 

A Norman  leader,  in  the  service  of  the  King  of  Scotland, 
maiTied  the  heiress  of  Lochow,  in  the  twelfth  century,  and 
from  him  the  Campbells  are  sprung. 

Page  247,  line  11. 

IVhose  lineage,  in  a rapturtd  hour, 

Alluding  to  the  well-known  tradition  respecting  the  origin 
of  painting,  that  it  arose  from  a young  Corinthian  female 
tracing  the  shadow  of  her  lover’s  profile  on  the  wall  as  he  lay 
asleep. 

Page  200,  line  18. 

Where  the  Norman  encamp'd  him  of  old. 

What  is  called  the  East  Hill,  at  Hastings,  is  crowned  with 
the  works  of  an  ancient  camp;  and  it  is  more  than  probable 
it  was  the  spot  which  William  I.  occupied  between  his  land- 
ing and  the  battle  which  gave  him  England’s  crown.  It  is  a 
strong  position;  the  works  are  easily  traced. 

Page  264,  line  29. 

France  turns  from  her  abandon’d  friends  afresh, 

The  fact  ought  to  be  universally  known,  that  France  is  at 
this  moment  indebted  to  Poland  for  not  being  invaded  bj 
Russia.  When  the  Grand  D’lke  Constantine  fled  from  War- 
saw, he  left  papers  behind  him  proving  that  the  Russians, 


NOTES. 


421 


after  the  Parisian  events  in  July,  meant  to  have  marched  to- 
wards Paris,  if  the  Polish  insurrection  had  not  prevented 
them 

^ ‘ Page  276,  line  8. 

Thee^  Niemcieivitz, 

This  venerable  man,  the  most  popular  and  influential  of 
Polish  poets,  and  president  of  the  academy  in  Warsaw,  was 
in  London  when  this  poem  was  written : he  was  then  seventy- 
four  years  old ; but  his  noble  spirit  is  rather  mellowed  than 
decayed  by  age.  He  was  the  friend  of  Fox,  Kosciusko,  and 
Washington.  Rich  in  anecdote  like  Franklin,  he  has  also  a 
striking  resemblance  to  him  in  countenance. 


Page  277,  line  14. 

Nor  church-bell 

In  Catholic  countries  you  often  hear  the  church-bells  rung 
to  propitiate  Heaven  during  thunder-storms. 


Page  291,  line  14. 

Regret  the  lark  that  gladdens  England's  mom^ 

Mr.  P.  Cunningham,  in  his  interesting  work  on  New  South 
Wales,  gives  the  following  account  of  its  song-birds: — “ We 
are  not  moved  here  with  the  deep  mellow  note  of  the  black- 
bird, poured  out  from  beneath  some  low  stunted  bush,  nor 
thrilled  with  the  wild  warblings  of  the  thrush  perched  on  the  top 
of  some  tall  sapling,  nor  charmed  with  the  blithe  carol  of  the 
lark  as  we  proceed  early  a-field;  none  of  our  birds  rivalling 
those  divine  songsters  in  realizing  the  poetical  idea  of  ‘ the 
music  of  the  gi'ove:  ’ while  '•parrots'  chattering ' must  supply 
the  place  of ‘nightingales’  singing’  in  the  future  amorous 
lays  of  our  sighing  Celadons.  We  have  our  lark,  certainly; 
but  both  his  appearance  and  note  are  a most  wretched  parody 
upon  the  bird  about  which  our  English  Poets  have  made  so 
many  fine  similes.  He  will  mount  from  the  ground  and  rise, 
fluttering  upwards  in  the  same  manner,  and  with  a few  of 
the  starting  notes  of  the  English  lark;  but,  on  reaching  the 
height  of  thirty  feet  or  so,  down  he  drops  sudden I3"  and 
mutely,  diving  into  concealment  among  the  long  grass,  as  it 
ashamed  of  his  pitiful  attempt.  For  the  pert  friskj^  robin, 
pecking  and  pattering  against  the  windows  in  the  dull  days 
of  winter,  we  have  the  lively  ‘superb  warbler,’  with  his  blue 
shining  plumage  and  his  long  tapering  tail,  picking  up  the 
crumbs  at  our  doors ; while  the  pretty  red-bills,  of  the  size 
and  form  of  the  goldfinch,  constitute  the  sparrow  of  our  clime, 
flying  in  flocks  about  our  houses,  and  building  their  soft 


422 


NOTES. 


downy  pigmy  nests  in  the  orange,  peach,  and  lemon-trees 
surrounding  them.” — Cunningham's  Two  Year's  in  New  South 
Wales,  vol.  ii.  p.  216. 


Page  304,  line  6. 

Oh,  feeble  statesmen — ignominious  times. 

There  is  not  upon  record  a more  disgusting  scene  ol 
Russian  hypocrisy,  and  (woe  that  it  must  be  written!)  ol 
British  humiliation,  than  that  which  passed  on  board  the 
Talavera,  when  British  sailors  accepted  money  from  the 
Emperor  Nicholas,  and  gave  him  cheers.  It  wilf  require  the 
Talavera  to  fight  well  with  the  first  Russian  ship  that  she 
may  have  to  encounter,  to  make  us  forget  that  day. 

Page  316,  line  23. 

A palsy-stroke  of  Nature  shook  Oran, 

In  the  year  1790,  Oran,  the  most  western  city  in  the  Al- 
gerine Regency,  which  had  been  possessed  by  Spain  for  more 
than  a hundred  years,  and  fortified  at  an  immense  expense, 
was  destro^md  by  an  earthquake ; six  thousand  of  its  inhabit- 
ants were  buried  under  the  ruins. 


THE  PILGRIM  OF  GLENCOE.  . 

Page  326,  line  6. 

The  vale,  by  eagle-haunted  cliffs  d'erhung, 

The  valley  of  Glencoe,  unparalleled  in  its  scenerv  fci 
gloomy  grandeur,  is  to  this  day  frequented  by  eagles.  When 
I visited  the  spot  within  a year  ago,  I saw  several  perch  at  a 
distance.  Only  one  of  them  came  so  near  me  that  1 did  not 
wish  him  any  nearer.  He  favoured  me  with  a full  and  con- 
tinued view  of  his  noble  person,  and  with  the  exception  of 
the  African  eagle  which  I saw  wheeling  and  hovering  over  a 
corps  of  the  French  army  that  were  marching  from  Oran, 
and  who  seemed  to  linger  over  them  wdth  delight  at  the 
sound  of  their  trumpets,  as  if  they  were  about  to  restore  his 
jmage  to  the  Gallic  standard — I never  saw  a prouder  bird  than 
this  black  eagle  of  Glencoe. 

I was  unable,  from  a hurt  in  my  foot,  to  leave  the  carriage; 
but  the  gniile  informed  me  that,  if  I could  go  nearer  the  sides 
of  the  glen,  I should  see  the  traces  of  houses  and  gardens 
once  belonging  to  the  unfortunate  inhabitants.  As  it  was,  J 


NOTES. 


423 


never  saw  a spot  where  I could  less  supr)Ose  human  beings  to 
have  ever  dwelt.  I asked  the  guide  how  these  eagles  sub 
Bisted;  he  replied,  on  the  lambs  and  the  lawns  of  Lord 
Breadalbane.” — “Lambs  and  fawns!”  I said;  “and  how 
do  they  subsist,  for  I cannot  see  verdure  enough  to  graze  a 
rabbit’?  I suspect,”  I added,  “that  these  birds  make  the 
cliffs  only  their  country-houses,  and  that  they  go  down  to  the 
Lowlands  to  find  their  provender.” — “ Ay,  ay,”  replied  the 
Highlander,  “ it  is  very  possible,  for  the  eagle  can  gang  far 
for  his  breakfast.” 


Page  332,  line  21. 

Witch-legends  Ronald  scorn'd — ghost ^ Tcelpie^  wraith^ 

“ The  most  dangerous  and  malignant  creature  of  Highland 
superstition  was  the  kelpie,  or  water-horse,  which  wa©  sup- 
posed to  allure  women  and  children  to  his  subaqueous  haunts, 
and  there  devour  them ; sometimes  he  would  swell  the  lake 
or  torrent  beyond  its  usual  limits,  and  overwhelm  the  un- 
guarded traveller  in  the  flood.  The  shepherd,  as  he  sat  on 
the  brow  of  a rock  on  a summer’s  evening,  often  fancied  he 
saw  this  animal  dashing  along  the  surface  of  the  lake,  or 
browsing  on  the  pasture-ground  upon  its  verge.” — Brown's 
Uistory  of  the  Uighland  Clans,  vol.  i.  106. 

In  Scotland,  according  to  Dr.  John  Brown,  it  is  yet  a super- 
stitious principle  that  the  m'aith,  the  omen  or  messenger  of 
death,  appears  in  the  resemblance  of  one  in  danger,  immedi- 
ately preceding  dissolution.  Tliis  ominous  form,  purely  of  a 
spiritual  nature,  seems  to  testify  that  the  exaction  (extinc- 
tion) of  life  approaches.  It  was  wont  to  be  exhibited,  also, 
as  “ a little  rough  dog,"  ;when  it  could  be  pacified  by  the 
death  of  any  other  being  “ if  crossed,  and  conjured  in  time.” — 
Brown's  Superstitions  of  the  Highlands,  p.  182. 

It  happened  to  me,  early  in  life,  to  meet  with  an  amusing 
instance  of  Highland  superstition  with  regard  to  myself.  1 
lived  in  a family  of  the  Island  of  Mull,  and  a mile  or  two 
from  their  house  there  was  a burial-ground  without  any 
church  attached  to  it,  on  the  lonely  moor.  The  cemetery 
was  enclosed  and  guarded  by  an  iron  railing,  so  high,  that  it 
was  thought  to  be  unscaleable.  I was,  however,  commenc- 
ing the  study  of  botany  at  the  time,  and  thinking  there  might 
be  some  nice  flowers  and  curious  epitaphs  among  the  grave- 
stones, I contrived,  by  help  of  my  handkerchief,  to  scale  me 
vailing,  and  was  soon  scampering  over  the  tomb‘5;  some  of 
Jie  natives  chanced  to  perceive  me,  not  in  the  act  of  climb 
i'ig  over  to — but  skipping  ov'er,  the  burial-ground.  In  a day 
or  two  I observed  the  family  looking  on  me  with  unaccount- 
able, though  not  angry  seriousness:  at  last  the  good  old 
grandmother  told  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  “ that  I could 
not  live  long,  for  that  my  wraith  had  been  seen.” — “And, 


124 


NOTES. 


pray,  where  ? ” — “ Leaping  over  the  stones  of  the  burial- 
ground.’^  The  old  lady  was  much  relieved  to  hear  that  it 
was  not  my  wraith,  but  myself. 

Akin  to  other  Highland  superstitions,  but  differing  from 
them  in  many  essential  respects,  is  the  belief — for  supersti- 
tion it  cannot  well  be  called  (quoth  the  wise  author  I am 
quoting) — in  the  second-sight,  by  which,  as  Dr.  Johnson 
observes,  “ seems  to  be  meant  a mode  of  seeing  superadded 
to  that  which  Nature  generally  bestows;  and  consists  of  an 
impression  made  either  by  the  mind  upon  the  eye — or  by  the 
eye  upon  the  mind,  by  which  things  distant  or  future  are 
perceived  and  seen,  as  if  they  were  present.  This  deceptive 
faculty  is  called  Traioshe  in  the  (jaelic,  which  signifies  a 
spectre  or  vision,  and  is  neither  voluntary  nor  constant:  but 
consist?  in  seeing  an  otherwise  invisible  object,  without  any 
pievious  means  used  by  the  person  that  sees  it  for  that  end. 
The  vision  makes  such  a lively  impression  upon  the  seers, 
that  they  neither  see  nor  think  of  any  thing  else  except  the 
vision,  as  long  as  it  continues ; and  then  the}^  appear  pensive 
or  jovial,  according  to  the  object  which  was  represented  to 
them.” 

There  are  now  few  persons,  if  any  (continues  Dr.  Brown,) 
Aviio  pretend  to  this  faculty,  and  the  belief  in  it  is  almost 
generally  exploded.  Yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  apparent 
proofs  of  its  existence  have  been  adduced,  which  have  stag- 
gered minds  not  prone  to  superstition.  When  the  connection 
between  cause  and  effect  can  be  recognized,  things  which 
would  otherwise  have  appeared  wonderful,  and  almost  in- 
credible, are  vnewed  as  ordinary  occurrences.  The  impossi- 
bility of  accounting  for  such  an  extraordinary  phenomenon 
as  the  alleged  faculty  on  philosophical  principles,  or  from  the 
laws  of  nature,  must  ever  leave  the  matter  suspended  between 
rational  doubt  and  confirmed  scepticism.  “ Strong  reasons 
for  incredulity,”  says  Dr.  Johnson,  “ will  readily  occur.” 
This  faculty  of  seeing  things  out  of  sight  is  local,  and  ccm- 
monly  useless.  It  is  a breach  of  the  common  order  of  things, 
without  any  visible  reason  or  perceptible  benefit.  It  is  as- 
cribed only  t)  a people  very  little  enlightened,  and  among 
them,  for  the  most  part,  to  the  mean  and  ignorant. 

In  the  whole  history  of  Highland  superstitions,  there  is  not 
a more  curious  fact  than  that  Dr.  James  Brown,  a gentleman 
of  the  Edinburgh  bar,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  should  shovv 
himself  a more  abject  believer  in  the  truth  of  second-sight 
than  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  of  London,  in  the  eighteentli 
century. 

Page  334,  line  12. 

The  pit  or  gallows  would  have  cured  my  grief. 

Until  the  year  1747,  the  Highland  Lairds  had  the  right  of 
punishing  serfs  even  capitally,  in  so  fur  as  they  often  banged. 


NOTES. 


425 


or  imprisoned  them  in  a pit  or  dungeon,  where  they  were 
Itarved  to  death.  But  the  law  of  1746,  for  disarming  the 
Highlanders  and  restraining  the  use  of  the  Highland  garb, 
was  followed  up  the  following  year  by  one  of  a more  radical 
and  permanent  description.  This  was  the  act  for  abolishing 
the  heritable  jurisdictions,  which,  though  necessary  in  a 
rude  state  of  society,  were  wholly  incompatible  with  an 
advanced  state  of  civilization.  By  depriving  the  Highland 
chiefs  of  their  judicial  powers,  it  was  thought  that  the  sway 
which,  1 ,>r  centuries,  they  had  held  over  their  people,  would 
be  gradually  impaired:  and  that  by  investing  certain  judges, 
who  were  amenable  to  the  legislature  for  the  proper  discharge 
of  their  duties,  with  the  civil  and  criminal  jurisdiction  enjoy 
ed  by  the  proprietors  of  the  soil,  the  cause  of  good  government 
would  be  promoted,  and  the  facilities  for  repressing  any 
attempts  to  disturb  the  public  tranquillity  increased. 

By  this  act  (20  George  II.,  c.  43,)  which  was  made  to  the 
whole  of  vScotland,  all  heritable  jurisdictions  of  justiciary, 
all  regalities  and  heritable  bailieries,  and  constabularies 
(excepting  the  office  of  high  constable,)  and  all  stewartries 
and  sheritfships  of  smaller  districts,  which  were  only  parts  of 
counties,  were  dissolved,  and  the  powers  formerly  vested  in 
them  were  ordained  to  be  exercised  by  such  of  the  king’s 
courts  as  these  powers  would  have  belonged  to,  if  the  juris- 
dictions had  never  been  granted.  All  sheriffships  and  stew- 
artries not  dissolved  by  the  statute,  namely,  those  which 
comprehended  whole  counties,  where  they  had  been  granted 
either  heritably  or  for  life,  were  resumed  and  annexed  to  the 
crown.  With  the  exception  of  the  hereditarv  justiciaryship 
of  Scotland,  which  was  transferred  from  the  family  of  Argyle 
to  the  High  Court  of  Justiciary,  the  other  jurisdictions  were 
ordained  to  be  vested  in  slieriffs-depute  or  stewarts-depute,  to 
be  appointed  by  the  king  in  every  shire  or  stewartry  not  dis- 
solved by  the  act.  As  by  the  twentieth  of  Union,  all  herit- 
able offices  and  jurisdictions  were  reserved  to  the  grantees  as 
rights  of  property;  compensation  was  ordained  to  be  made  to 
the  holders,  the  amount  of  which  was  afterwards  fixed  by 
parliament,  in  terms  of  the  act  of  Sederunt  of  the  Court  of 
Session,  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousands  pounds. 


Page  334,  line  14. 

I march!* d — when^  feigning  royalty's  command. 

Against  the  clan  Macdonald,  Stair's  loi'd 
Sent  fyrth  exterminating Jire  and  sword; 

I cannot  agi'ee  with  Brown,  the  author  of  an  able  work, 
**  The  History  of  the  Highland  Clans,”  that  the  affair  of  Glen- 
coe has  stamped  indelible  infamy  on  the  government  of  King 
William  III.,  if  by  this  expression  it  be  meant  that  William’s 


426 


NOTES. 


own  memory  is  dis^aced  by  that  massacre.  I see  no  proof 
that  William  gave  more  than  general  orders  to  subdue  the 
remaining  malecoutents  of  the  Macdonald  clan;  and  these 
orders,  the  nearer  we  trace  them  to  the  government,  are  the 
more  express  in  enjoining,  that  all  those  who  would  promise 
to  swear  allegiance  should  be  spared.  As  these  orders  came 
down  from  the  general  government  to  individuals,  they  be- 
came more  and  more  severe,  and  at  last  merciless,  so  that 
they  ultimately  ceased  to  be  the  real  orders  of  government. 
Among  these  false  agents  of  government,  who  appear  with 
m:)8t  disgrace,  is  the  “ Master  of  Stair,”  who  appears  in  tlie 
business  more  like  a fiend  than  a man.  When  issuii.g  his 
orders  for  the  attack  on  the  remainder  of  the  Macdonalds  in 
Glencoe,  he  expressed  a hope  in  his  letter  “ that  the  soldiers 
would  trouble  the  government  with  no  prisoners.” 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  I would  for  a moment  palliate 
this  atrocious  event  by  quoting  the  provocations  not  very 
long  before  ofiered  by*the  Macdonalds  in  massacres  of  the 
Campbells.  But  they  may  be  alluded  to  as  causes,  though 
not  excuses.  It  is  a part  of  the  melancholy  instruction 
which  history  affords  us,  that  in  the  moral  as  well  as  in  the 
physical  world  there  is  always  a reaction  equal  to  the 
action. — The  banishment  of  the  Moors  from  Spain  to  Africa 
was  the  chief  cause  of  African  piracy  and  Christian  slavery 
among  the  Moors  for  centuries;  and  since  the  reign  of 
William  III.  the  Irish  Orangemen  have  been  the  Algerines  of 
Ireland. 

The  affair  of  Glencoe  was  in  fact  only  a lingering  trait  of 
horribly  barbarous  times,  though  it  was  the  more  shocking 
that  it  came  from  that  side  of  the  political  world  which  pro- 
fessed to  be  the  more  liberal  side,  and  it  occurred  at  a late 
time  of  the  day,  when  the  minds  of  both  parties  had  become 
comparatively  civilized,  the  whigs  by  the  triumph  of  free 
principles,  and  the  tories  by  personal  experience  of  the  evils 
attending  persecution.  Yet  that  barbarism  still  subsisted  in 
too  many  minds  professing  to  act  on  liberal  principles,  is  but 
too  apparent  from  this  disgusting  tragedy. 

I once  flattered  myself  that  the  Argyle  Campbells,  from 
whom  I am  sprung,  had  no  share  in  this  massacre,  and  a 
direct  share  they  certainly  had  not.  But  on  inquiry  I find 
that  they  consented  to  shutting  up  the  passes  of  Glencoe 
through  which  the  JMacdonalds  might  escape ; and  perhaps 
relations  of  my  great-grandfather — I am  afraid  to  count  theii 
distance  or  proximity — might  be  indirectly  concerned  in  the 
cruelty. 

But  children  are  not  answerable  for  the  crimes  of  their  fore- 
fathers ; an  i I hope  and  trust  that  the  descendants  of  Bread- 
albane  and  Glenlyon  are  as  much  and  justly  at  their  ease  oo 
this  subject  as  I am. 


NOTES. 


427 


Page  343,  line  7. 

Chance  snatclVd  them  from  proscription  and  despair. 

Many  Highland  families,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  rebellion  in 
1745,  were  saved  from  utter  desolation  by  the  contrivances  of 
some  of  their  more  sensible  members,  principally  the  women, 
who  foresaw  the  consequences  of  the  insurrection.  When  I 
was  a youth  in  the  Highlands,  I remember  an  old  gentleman 
being  pointed  out  to  me,  who,  finding  all  other  arguments 
fail,  had,  in  conjunction  with  his  mother  and  sisters,  bound 
the  old  laird  hand  and  foot,  and  locked  him  up  in  his  own 
cellar,  until  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Culloden  had  arrived. 

A device  pleasanter  to  the  reader  of  the  anecdote,  though 
not  to  the  sufierer,  was  practised  by  a shrewd  Highland  dame, 
whose  husband  was  Charles  Stuart-mad,  and  was  determined 
to  join  the  insurgents.  He  told  his  wife  at  night  that  he 
should  start  early  to-morrow  morning  on  horseback.  “ Well, 
but  you  will  allow  me  to  make  your  breakfast  before  you 
^oV” — “ Oh  yes.”  She  accordingly  prepared  it,  and,  bring- 
in  a full  boiling  kettle,  poured  it,  by  intentional  accident,  on 
his  legs ! 


THE  END. 


THE  POETICAL  -WORKS 

OF 

WILLIAM  FALOOHEE. 


THE  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  FALCONER. 


BY  THE  REV.  JOHN  MITFORD. 


When  Anderson  published  the  life  of  Falconer 
(the  earliest  which  I have  seen)  in  his  collection  of 
the  British  Poets,  he  possessed,*  as  he  confesses, 
no  memorials  of  the  birthplace  or  parentage  of  the 
poet:  and  when  Stanier  Clarke  was  preparing  his 
accurate  and  beautiful  edition,  he  was  equally  at  a 
loss  for  authentic  materials,  till  he  fortunately  met 
with  Governor  Hunter,  a shipmate  of  the  poet’s,  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  M’ Arthur.  From  the  communi- 
cations of  this  gentleman,  and  from  subsequent  con- 
versations with  his  brother.  Lieutenant  Hunter,  of 
Greenwich  Hospital,  many  particulars  were  collected. 
Clarke’s  Life  of  Falconer  has  justly  been  the  founda- 
tion on  which  Mr.  Chalmers’s,  and  all  subsequent 
biographies  have  been  founded,  and,  with  som^-  ^ 
trifling  additions,  it  must  be  the  one  to  which  /fhe 
present  will  look,  as  to  its  most  correct  authoy^^ty. 

/ 

* Anderson’s  edition  of  the  British  Poets  w^^'^^lished  in 
t796.  :Mr.  Stanier  Clarke’s  edition  of  the  Shipwl^l^i  in  1806. 


j 


VI 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


William  Falconer,  who  has  given  lasting  dignity 
to  a name  previously  obscure,  was  born  about  1736* 
or  1737,  and  was  the  son  of  a poor  man  at  Edin- 
burgh, who  exercised  the  equally  unprofitable  trades 
of  barber  and  wig-maker  in  the  Netherbow,  and 
subsequently  of  grocer.  He  got  no  more  by  weighing 
plums  than  by  shaving  polls.  He  was  also  a fellow 
of  infinite  wit,  and  consequently  remained  “ an 
honest  poor  man  ” as  long  as  he  lived. 

The  vocal  powers  of  the  family,  which  are  gener- 
ally shared  largely  by  the  female  members,  were 
in  this  instance  concentrated  in  the  person  of  our 
poet : for  his  brothers  and  sisters  were  all  deaf  or 
dumb : and  Captain  Hunter  verified  the  statement 
which  Falconer  had  made  to  him  of  this  unusual 
infliction,  when  he  met  two  of  the  family  in  the 
poor-house  at  Edinburgh,  where  they  continued 
until  death.  Falconer  received  some  education, 
which  may  truly  be  called  elementary,  at  the  school 
of  a Mr.  Webster,  for  the  establishment  was  broken 
up  in  1746,  when  he  was  only  beginning  his  gram^ 
mar,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  went 
to  any  other.  The  following  account  of  liim  is  from 
the  pen  of  Mr.  Forrest : “ I well  remember  being 
greatly  surprised  when  he  gave  me  a copy  of  the 
abii^ve  ode  (On  the  Prince  of  Wales)  as  his  own, 
for  he  had  been  always  reckoned  rather  a dunce  at 


♦ Mr.  J.  the  correspondent  of  Dr.  Anderson,  printed 

in  Campbell’s^istory  of  Scottish  Poetry,  4to.  1798,  p.  237. 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


vii 


Bchool;  and,  young  as  I then  was,  I knew  that  a 
sailor’s  life  was  not  favourable  for  the  cultivation  of 
letters.  I never  to  my  recollection  saw  him  since 
that  time : indeed  I fancy  he  never  was  here.  He 
was  a lumpish,  heavy  looking  lad,  very  careless  and 
dirty  in  his  dress,  and  was  known  by  the  appellation 
of  Bubly-hash-Falconer ; if  you  are  not  a Scotch- 
man, this  name  will  not  convey  to  you  such  a dis- 
tinct idea  of  his  looks  as  it  does  to  one  of  us.”  * He 
was  then  placed,  reluctantly  on  his  part,  on  board 
a merchant  vessel  at  Leith,  and  there  he  served  liis 
apprenticeship.! 

Forlorn  of  heart,  and  by  severe  decree 
Condemn’d  relucta^st  to  the  faithless  sea. 

One  of  his  biographers  I asserts  that  the  affairs  of 
his  father,  which  were  never  prosperous,  fell  into 
great  derangement  on  the  death  of  his  wife,  a woman 
whose  prudent  management  had  long  averted  the 
impending  crisis.  Subsequently  he  was  servant  to 
Archibald  Campbell,  the  author  of  Lexiphanes  and 
other  works,  who  was  purser  of  a ship.  Dr.  Currie, 
in  his  edition  of  Burns,  § says  “ that  his  master 

* See  Al.  Campbell’s  Introd.  of  Poetry  to  Scotland,  p.  237. 

t See  Lives  of  the  Scottish  Poets,  1822,  3 vols.  Boys,  vol.  iii. 
p.  64.  Although  a Life  of  Falconer  by  InMng  is  alluded  to  by 
his  biogi’aphers,  I can  find  none  in  my  copy  of  Irving’s  Lives  of 
the  Scottish  Poets,  2 vols.  8vo.  Ed.  1804. 

t For  an  account  of  Campbell,  see  Dyce’s  Akenside,  p.  Ixxix. 
Hawkins’s  Life  of  Johnson,  p.  347. 

$ See  Currie’s  ed.  of  Burns,  vol.  ii.  p.  283, 2nd  ed. 


VIU 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


delighted  to  instruct  the  mind  of  the  young  seaman, 
and  boasted  of  his  tuition,  when  Falconer  subse- 
quently had  acquired  reputation.”  It  is  supposed 
that  through  Campbell’s  interest,  Falconer  was 
made  second  mate  of  a vessel  employed  in  the  Le- 
vant trade  (the  Britannia),  which  was  shipwrecked 
in  her  passage  from  Alexandria  to  Venice,  near 
Cape  Colonna,  on  the  coast  of  Greece. 

The  exact  date  when  this  calamity  happened  is 
not  known.  Only  three  of  the  crew  survived,  and 
the  distressing  event  made  such  an  impression  on 
Falconer’s  mind,  as  to  become  the  subject  of  a 
poem ; which  certainly  is  not,  as  Stanier  Clarke 
asserts,  one  of  the  finest  in  our  language,  and  is  far 
from  being  so ; but  which  in  all  probability  will 
continue  to  be  a favourite  with  a certain  class  of 
readers,  and  therefore  preserve  its  station  among 
the  brotherhood  of  English  Poets. 

In  1751,  Falconer,  as  an  humble  sailor,  for  he 
had  not  risen  above  that  station,  revisited  his  native 
city,  and  commenced  his  poetical  career  with  an 
Elegy  on  the  death  of  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales; 
Gray  also  began  his,  with  a Hymeneal  on  the 
marriage  of  the  same  illustrious  person.  He  fol- 
lowed up  his  first  step  on  the  poetic  ladder  with 
others ; and  sent  to  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine 
(which  has  been  the  ^kind  protector  of  all  youthful 
bards, ‘ and  in  whose  venerable  courts  they  have 
imped  their  plumes,  and  tried  their  earliest  flights) 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


IX 


a few  poems,  that  have  been  recognized  as  his  — 
as  * The  Chaplain’s  Petition  to  the  Lieutenants  in 
the  Ward  Room  — The  Description  of  a Ninetj- 
gun  Ship  — and  some  lines  containing  a very  unu- 
sual and  unnecessary  complaint,  On  the  Uncommon 
Scarcity  of  Poets.  — These  are  given  to  Falconer 
on  the  authority  of  Dr.  Clarke,  who  also  is  of  opinion 
that  he  was  the  author  of  the  popular  song  “ Cease, 
rude  Boreas,” t and  another  copy  of  verses,  de- 
scriptive of  the  sentiments  and  abode  of  a midship- 
man, has  been  ascribed  to  him  by  the  same  biog- 
rapher. 

Falconer  is  supposed  to  have  continued  in  the 
merchant  service  till  he  published  his  poem  of  the 
Shipwreck  in  17G2,J  which  was  dedicated  to  the 

* See  Gent.  Mag.  1758,  p.  371.  This  poem  Lieutenant  Hunter 
ascribed  to  Falconer;  the  other  two  are  given  on  the  belief  of 
S.  Clarke.  It  is  not  of  much  consequence  from  whom  such  lines 
as  the  following  proceeded : — 

The  rough  rude  wind  which  stem  .£blus  sends. 

t This  is  a mere  conjecture  of  S.  Clarke’s,  who  thinks  the 
song  to  be  either  Falconer’s,  or  Captain  Thomson’s,  the  well 
known  editor  of  several  works,  as  w’ell  as  author  of  some  popu- 
lar naval  songs.  See  also  ‘ The  Songs  of  England  and  Scotland, 
2 vols.  1835,’  vol.  i.  p.  231,  and  Naval  Chronicle,  vol.  ii.  p.  233, 
where  the  song  is  decidedly  attributed  to  Falconer,  and  said  “ to 
have  been  long  given  with  singular  injustice  to  G.  Al.  Steevens.” 
[The  song  is  decidedly  not  Falconer’s.  See  Chappell’s  Popular 
Mvdc^  etc.,  ii.  786.  — F.  J.  C.] 

f The  first  edition  was  printed  by  Miller  in  May,  1762:  Ship* 
wreck,  in  Three  Cantos,  by  a Sailor,  4to.  The  subsequent  edi- 
tions, says  Mr.  Alex.  Campbell,  are  by  many  deemed  inferior  to 
die  fi/st,  as  what  it  has  gained  in  embellishment  it  has  lost  in 


X 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


Duke  of  York,  who  had  hoisted  his  flag  as  Rear- 
Admiral  of  the  Blue,  on  board  the  Princess  Ame^ 
lia,  attached  to  the  fleet  under  Sir  Edward  Hawke. 
Clarke  says,  “ the  author  was  deservedly  called  a 
second  Homer.”  The  Duke  of  York  kindly  patron- 
ized this  unlooked  for  production  of  a sailor,  and 
advised  Falconer  to  leave  the  merchant  service  for 
the  Royal  Navy.  He  was  accordingly  rated  as  a 
midsliipman  on  board  Sir  Edward  Hawke’s  ship,  the 
Royal  George ; perhaps  the  very  same  ship,  the 
funeral  knell  of  which  was  so  musically  tolled  by 
the  Bard  of  Olney.  In  his  last  visit  to  Scotland, 
after  the  publication  of  the  Shipwreck,  it  has  been 
said  that  F alconer  * resided  at  the  Manse  of  Glads- 

true  poetical  beauty,  and  energy  of  expression.  “ There  is  fre- 
quently a copious  simplicity,”  says  Dr.  Anderson,  “ in  his  first 
designs,  that  no  after  thought  or  labour  can  amend ; an  irregular 
beauty,  that  every  alteration  must  efface.” 

* See  Lives  of  Scottish  Poets,  vol.  iii.  p.  74.  The  same  writer 
also  observes  that  Falconer  was  on  board  the  Ramillies,  Captain 
Taylor,  with  Admiral  Bressau’s  squadron,  Dec.  1760;  was  ship 
wrecked,  coming  up  the  channel,  and  out  of  a crew  of  734  men, 
only  Falconer  and  twenty-three  others  escaped.  These  circumr 
stances  are  not  in  Dr.  Clarke’s  narrative.  It  was  on  this  wreck 
of  the  Ramillies,  and  not  of  the  Britannia,  that  this  biographer 
supposes  the  poem  to  be  founded:  vide  Lives,  vol.  iii.  p.  70.  I 
shall  give  his  argument  in  his  own  words,  observing  that  he  is 
the  only  biographer  of  Falconer  who  alludes  to  the  poet  being  on 
board  the  Ramillies;  nor  does  Dr.  Clarke  assign  the  poem  in 
Gent.  Mag.  dated  Ramillies,  B.  of  Biscay,  25th  Nov.  1760,  to  Fal- 
coner, which  the  present  writer  does.  He  supposes  that  the  ship- 
wreck of  the  Ramillies  suggested  the  poem,  but  that  the  loss  of 
the  Britannia  was  chosen  for  the  sake  of  the  scenery.  It  seems 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


XI 


muir,  which  was  then  possessed  by  his  illustrious 
kinsman,  Dr.  Robertson,  whose  father  was  cousin- 
german  to  Falconer.  Mr.  Chalmers,  however,  re- 
marks on  this  statement,  that  though  Robertson 
may  have  been  related  to  Falconer,  he  certainly  had 
left  Gladsmuir  at  that  time. 

Tlie  Shipwreck,  on  its  appearance,  was  reviewed 
in  the  Monthly  Review,  vol.  xxvii.  p.  197,  in  a 
style  of  criticism  which  in  later  times  has  given  way 
to  one  less  indulgent  and  encouraging.  The  praise 
here  bestowed  on  Falconer,  of  equalling  Virgil  in 

rather  probable  that  he  proceeded  by  an  inverted  order,  and  that 
his  verses  on  the  loss  of  the  Ramillies  first  gave  the  idea  of  the 
more  extended  poem,  on  the  loss  of  the  Britannia.  The  tribute 
which  he  paid  to  the  memory  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  shows  what 
were  his  poetical  powers  after  his  first  misfortune;  and  if  we  ex- 
amine the  Shipwreck  by  this  test,  it  will  be  found  that  there  is 
scarcely  a couplet  in  it  which  can  be  referred  to  so  humble  a level. 
It  displays  everywhere  proofs  of  having  been  begun  and  ended 
during  a far  more  advanced  period  of  improvement,  when  he  had 
acquired  an  astonishing  mastery  over  the  mechanism  of  versifica- 
tion, and  was  rich  in  ideas,  the  fruit  of  long  experience  and  reflec- 
tion. It  is  deserving  too  of  attention,  that  in  many  places  the 
story  has  evidently  been  indebted  for  circumstances  that  heighten 
its  interest,  to  what  the  author  could  only  have  witnessed  on  board 
the  Ramillies:  and  though  it  is  possible  that  these  may  have 
been  additions  to  a poem  previously  written,  yet  there  is  an  air 
of  original  connectedness  in  the  narrative,  which  by  no  means 
favours  the  supposition.  The  throwing  the  guns  overboard  is 
one  very  striking  instance  of  that  man-of-war  experience  which 
pervades  the  poem:  nor  could  any  thing  but  the  latitude  ol  poeti- 
cal license  justify  the  introduction  of  such  a circumstance  into 
the  description  of  a merchant  vessel  in  distress.”  This  winter* 
reasons  must  be  taken  for  what  they  are  worth. 


XU  LIFE  OF  FALCONEEP. 

his  descriptions,  and  surpassing  him  in  the  charac- 
ter of  the  modern  Palinurus,  is  such  as  in  the  pres- 
ent day  would  hardly  have  been  bestowed  on  our 
most  honoured  poets ; and  Dr.  Clarke  has  added, 
while  giving  some  passages  which  an  Irishman  had 
translated  into  Latin  verse,  “ that  they  will  prove. 
even  to  the  pedant,  that  the  [difference]  between  Virgil 
and  Falconer  is  not  so  great  as  may  be  imagined.'*’ 
Truly,  the  comparison  of  Falconer’s  somewhat  pro- 
saic lines,  translated  into  Hibernian  Latin,  to  Virgil’s 
exquisite  and  inimitable  language,  is  most  wonder- 
fully unfortunate ! But  we  proceed  to  give  the 
review : — 

“ It  has  frequently  been  observed,  that  true  genius 
will  surmount  every  obstacle  which  opposes  its 
exertion : how  unfavourable  soever  the  situation  of 
a Seaman  may  be  thought  to  the  Poet,  certain  it  is 
the  two  characters  are  not  incompatible ; for  none 
but  an  able  seaman  could  give  so  didactic  an  ac- 
count, and  so  accurate  a description  of  the  voyage 
and  catastrophe  here  related ; and  none  but  a par- 
ticular favourite  of  the  Muses  could  have  embellish- 
ed both  with  equal  harmony  of  numbers  and 
strength  of  imagery. 

“ The  main  subject  of  the  poem  is  the  loss  of  the 
Ship  Britannia,  a merchantman,  bound  from  Alex- 
andria to  Venice,  which  touched  at  the  Island  of 
Candia ; whence  proceeding  on  her  voyage,  she  met 
with  a violent  storm  that  drove  her  on  the  coasts  of 


LIFE  OP  FALCONER. 


ynl 

Greece,  where  she  suffered  shipwreck  near  Cape 
Colonna ; three  only  of  the  crew  being  left  alive. 

“ The  ship  putting  to  sea  from  the  Port  of  Can- 
dia,  the  Poet  takes  an  opportunity  of  making  seve- 
ral beautiful  marine  descriptions ; such  as  the  pros- 
pect of  the  shore ; a shoal  of  dolphins ; a water- 
spout; the  method  of  taking  an  azimuth  and 
working  the  ship.  In  the  Second  Canto,  the  ship 
having  cleared  the  land,  the  storm  begins ; and  witl 
it  the  consultation  of  the  pilots  and  operations  of  the 
seamen ; all  wdiich  the  Poet  has  described  with  an 
amazing  minuteness,  and  has  found  means  to  reduce 
the  several  technical  terms  of  the  marine  into  smooth 
and  harmonious  numbers.  Homer  has  been  admired 
by  some  for  reducing  a catalogue  of  ships  into  toler- 
ably flowing  verse ; but  who,  except  a poetical 
sailor,  the  nursling  of  Apollo,  educated  by  Neptune, 
would  ever  have  thought  of  versifying  his  own  sea 
language?  what  other  poet  would  ever  have  dreair/ 
of  reef-tackles^  halyards,  clue-garnets^  buntlines,  lash 
ings,  lanyards,  and  fifty  other  terms  equally  obnox 
ious  to  the  soft  sing-song  of  modern  poetasters. 

“Many  of  his  descriptions  are  not  inferior  to  anv 
thing  in  the  ^Eneid  ; many  passages  in  the  thir 
and  fifth  books  of  which  our  Author  has  had  i. 
view ; they  have  not  suffered  by  his  imitation ; an 
his  pilot  appears  to  much  greater  advantage  tha 
die  Palinurus  of  Virgil. 

“ Nor  is  the  Poet’s  talent  confined  to  the  descrip- 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


Jdv 

tion  of  inanimate  scenes:  he  relates,  and  bewails, 
the  untimely  fate  of  his  companions  in  the  most 
animated  and  pathetic  strains.  The  close  of  the 
master’s  address  to  the  seamen,  in  the  time  of  their 
greatest  danger,  is  noble  and  philosophical.  It  is 
impossible  to  read  the  circumstantial  account  of  the 
unfortunate  end  of  the  ship’s  crew,  without  being 
deeply  affected  by  the  tale,  and  charmed  with  the 
manner  of  the  relation.” 

At  the  peace  of  1763,  the  Royal  George  was  paid 
off,  but  Falconer  had  previously  published  an  ode 
entitled,  On  the  Duke  of  York’s  Second  Departure 
from  England  as  Rear-Admiral.  He  composed  it, 
as  Governor  Hunter  observed,  during  an  occasional 
absence  from  his  messmates,  when  he  retired  into 
a small  space  between  the  cable  trees  and  the  ship’s 
side.  Dr.  Clarke  considers  the  conclusion  to  be  not 
unworthy  of  Dry  den ; but  I confess  I can  see  no 
marks  of  that  divine  hand.  It  was  severely  re- 
viewed in  the  Critical  Review,  which  very  review. 
Dr.  Clarke  says,  was  written  by  Falconer.  This, 
on  all  rational  grounds  was  very  improbable ; and 
Mr.  Chalmers  has  on  competent  authority  contra- 
ilicled  it. 

Falconer  now  exchanged  the  military  for  the  civil 
department  of  the  navy;  and  in  1763,  he  was  ap- 
pointed purser  of  the  Glory  frigate  of  32  guns.  Soon 
after,  he  married  a young  lady  of  the  unpoetical 
name  of  Hicks,  the  daughter  of  a surgeon  of  Sheer- 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


XV 


ness  Yard.  Mr.  T.  Campbell*  says,  “she  was 
an  accomplished  and  beautiful  woman : ” the  last 
quality  is  entirely  derived  from  the  biographer’s 
gallantry;  for  Dr.  Clarke  says  that  it  was  rather 
the  lustre  of  Miss  Hicks’s  mind,  than  the  beauty  of 
her  person,  that  attracted  the  enamoured  poet.  She 
possessed  talents  which  she  inherited ; and  the  mar- 
riage turned  out  to  the  happiness  of  the  parties. 
When  Dr.  Clarke  was  collecting  materials  for  his 
Life,  he  could  not  discover  where  Falconer’s  widow 
resided ; but  he  considered  that  she  probably  pos- 
sessed a miniature, t nnd  letters  of  her  husband 
which  vvmuld  have  thrown  light  on  his  history.  Mr. 
Chalmers,  who  was  Avriting  in  1810,  says  that  she 
died  at  Bath  a few  years  since,  and  was  liberally 
supplied  with  money  by  Mr.  Cadell,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  successful  sale  of  her  husband’s  marine 
dictionary.  The  doubts  and  distractions  of  the  poet’s 
courtship  were  expressed  in  a ballad  called  the  Fond 
Lover ; by  which  it  would  appear  that  the  fort  of 
Miss  Hicks’s  affection  and  virtue  did  not  surrender 
till  after  a doubtful  and  protracted  siege.  He 
poured  forth  his  sorrows,  as  all  distressed  servants 


=*  See  T.  Campbell  s Specimens  of  the  British  Poets,  vol.  vi.  p. 
97.  Miss  Hicks’s  poetical  name  was  “Miranda.”  Ritson  has 
praised  Falconer’s  Address  to  ^liranda,  “ The  smiling  plains  pro- 
fusely gay,”  &:c. 

t No  picture  or  likeness  of  Falconer  is  known  to  exist. 


xvi 


LIFE  OF  FALCONEK. 


of  Apollo  hav3  done  since  the  days  of  Homer,  k 
the  winds  and  waves  — 

sadly  social  with  my  lay 

The  winds  in  concert  weep  : 

and  again, 

Since  all  her  thoughts,  by  sense  refined, 

Unartful  truth  express, 

Say  wherefore  sense  and  truth  are  join’d 
To  give  my  soul  distress? 

Wlien  the  Glory  was  laid  up  in  ordinary  at  Chat 
ham,  Commissioner  Hanway,  brother  to  the  cele- 
brated Jonas  Hanway,  took  an  interest  in  the  poet- 
ical talents  and  pursuits  of  the  purser ; and  the 
captain’s  cabin  was  ordered  to  be  fitted  up  with 
all  comforts  and  conveniences,  that  Falconer  miglit 
pursue  his  studies  without  expense.  Here  he 
finished  his  IMarine  Dictionary  — a work  of  years : 
the  design  was  suggested  to  him  by  Mr.  Scott,  and 
approved  by.  Sir  Edward  Hawke.  The  celebrated 
Du  Hamel,  who  had  distinguished  himself  for  some 
writings  on  naval  architecture,  also  gave  it  his  ap- 
probation. Those  published  on  similar  subjects 
abroad,  he  described  as  being  very  imperfect : — 
‘ ce  livre  manquoit  absolument.’  — From  the  Glory 
Falconer  was  appointed  to  the  Swiftsure.  In  1764, 
he  published  a new  edition  of  his  poem,  wdth  cor- 
rections and  additions.  The  next  year  he  printed 
apolitical  satire  on  Lord  Chatham,  Wilkes,  Churchill 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


XVU 


&c.  which  Dr.  Clarke  says  was  a proper  antidote 
to  the  Rosciad!  It  might  as  well  have  been  an  anti- 
dote to  Paradise  Los*.. 

The  Marine  Dictionary  was  published  in  1769 
and  Falconer  left  his  commodious  cabin  for  one  ot 
those  abodes  of  genius  — the  poet’s  rightful  inheri 
tance  — a garret  in  the  metropolis.  Here  he  strug 
gled  on  in  some  way  or  other,  the  particulars  ol 
wliich  are  not  known  ; at  length  he  received  a pro- 
posal from  IMr.  Murray,  the  bookseller,  to  join  with 
him  in  taking  Mr.  Sandby’s  business,  opposite  St 
Dunstan’s  Church.  The  offer,  as  it  appears  by 
Murray’s  letter,  seemed  to  hold  out  prospects  of 
great  advantage.  Why  Falconer  did  not  accept  it, 
does  not  appear : if  he  had,  the  splendid  and  suc- 
cessful establishment  in  Albemarle  Street,  the  off- 
spring of  the  other,  might  now  have  been  graced 
with  a poet’s  name.  Speaking  of  the  publishing 
booksellers,  Mr.  Murray  writes  — “Many  block- 
heads in  the  trade  are  making  fortunes,  and  did  we 
not  succeed  as  well  as  they,  I think  it  must  be  im- 
puted only  to  ourselves.” 

A third  edition  of  the  Shipwreck  being  called  for 
in  1769,  considerable  improvements  and  additions 
were  prepared  by  the  author : but  being  appointed 
purser  to  the  Aurora  frigate,  which  was  going  out 
to  India,  with  Mr.  Vansittart,*  and  others,  as  com- 

* It  is  said,  Mr.  Falconer  was  promised  the  private  secretary- 
ship to  the  commissioners.  See  Lives  of  Sc.  Poets,  vol.  iii.  p.  75 

B 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


Xviii 

rai’ssioneis  for  the  Company’s  affairs,  in  the  hurry  of 
his  preparations  and  departure,  it  is  supposed  that 
he  left  the  care  of  the  new  edition  to  his  friend 
Mallet.  It  is  said  that  there  are  some  mistakes  in 
the  nautical  terms ; and  Dr.  Clarke  says,  “ the  infe- 
riority of  many  passages  is  strikingly  evident,”  — 
but  if  David  Mallet  the  poet  is  the  person  alluded 
to,  he  was  one  to  whom  the  fame  of  the  poem  might 
have  been  safely  entrusted ; for  he  was  skilled  in  all 
the  art  of  versification,  and  is  not  likely  to  have  let 
negligences  or  errors  escape  his  notice. 

We  are  now  drawing  to  the  melancholy  and  un- 
expected close  of  our  author’s  life.  The  Aurora 
left  England  on  the  30th  Sept.  1769,  and  after 
touching  at  the  Cape,  which  she  left  on  the  27th 
December,  was  lost  in  some  part  of  her  remaining 
passage.  It  has  been  supposed  that  this  unfortunate 
vessel  perished  by  fire : but  the  more  general  opin- 
ion seems  to  be,  that  she  foundered  in  the  Mosam- 
bique  Channel.  Captain  Lee,*  although  a stranger 
to  its  navigation,  would  not  be  dissuaded  from  at- 
tempting it:  and  it  is  said,  that  Mr.  Vansittart,  who 

Mr.  Alex.  Campbell  says,  “ It  should  seem  from  a note  subjoined 
to  an  address  to  his  mistress,  first  printed  in  Dr.  Gilbert  Stuart’s 
Edinburgh  ^Magazine  and  Review  for  November,  1773,  that  Fal- 
coner had  been  sevtral  times  in  India,  and  it  is  not  improbable 
but  that  his  talents  had  gained  him  patronage,  in  consequence  ol 
which  his  appointment  in  the  Aurora  was  such  as  might  have 
insured  his  fortune  and  independence.”  — vol.  v.  Introd.  p.  238. 

* See  Gent.  Mag.  vol.  xli.  p.  237. 


LIFE  OF  FALCONEE. 


XIX 


went  out  in  it,  as  commissioner,  was  so  averse  to 
this  dangerous  experiment,  that  if  another  ship  had 
been  at  the  Cape,  he  would  have  proceeded  in  her. 
On  the  19th  November,  1773,  a Black  was  exam- 
ined before  the  board  of  directors,  who  affirmed  — 
that  he  was  one  of  five  persons  who  had  been 
saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  Aurora : that  the  said 
frigate  had  been  cast  away  on  a reef  of  rocks  off 
Macao : that  he  was  two  years  on  an  island  after 
he  escaped,  and  was  miraculously  preserved  by  a 
coasting  ship  happening  to  touch  upon  the  island. 
“Falconer”  (says  Burns,  in  a letter  to  Mrs.  Dun- 
lop), “ the  unfortunate  author  of  the  Shipwreck, 
which  you  so  much  admire,  is  no  more.  After 
weathering  the  dreadful  catastrophe  he  so  feelingly 
describes  in  his  poem,  and  after  weathering  many 
hard  gales  of  fortune,  he  went  to  the  bottom  with 
the  Aurora  frigate ! I forget  what  part  of  Scotland 
had  the  honour  of  giving  him  birtli,  but  he  was  the 
son  of  obscurity  and  misfortune.  He  was  one  of 
those  daring,  adventurous  spirits,  which  Scotland 
beyond  any  other  country  is  remarkable  for  pro- 
ducing. Little  does  the  fond  mother  think,  as  she 
hangs  delighted  over  the  sweet  little  leech  at  her 
bosom,  where  the  poor  fellow  may  hereafter  wan- 
der, and  what  may  be  his  fate.  I remember  a 
stanza  in  an  old  Scottish  ballad,  which,  notwith- 
standing its  rude  simplicity,  speaks  feelingly  to  the 
heart : — 


XX 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


‘ Little  (lid  my  mother  think, 

That  day  she  cradled  me, 

What  land  I was  to  travel  on. 

Or  what  death  I should  die  P ” 

In  person,  Falconer  was  about  five  feet  two  inches 
in  height,  of  a thin,  light  make,  with  hard  features, 
and  a weather-beaten  complexion.  His  hair  was 
brown,  and  he  was  marked  with  the  smallpox.  In 
his  common  address,  it  is  said,  he  was  blunt  and 
forbidding:  but  quick  and  fluent  in  conversation. 
His  observation  was  keen,  and  his  judgments  acute 
and  severe.  By  natural  temper  he  was  cheerful, 
and  used  to  amuse  his  companions,  the  seamen,  with 
acrostics  which  he  made  on  their  favourite  nymphs. 
He  was  a good  and  skilful  seaman.  As  for  educa- 
tion, he  assured  Governor  Hunter  that  it  was  con- 
fined to  reading,  Enghsh,  and  arithmetic.  In  his 
voyages,  he  had  picked  up  a little  colloquial  knowl- 
edge of  Italian  and  Spanish,  and  such  languages  as 
are  spoken  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 
That  he  was  esteemed  by  his  mess-mates  is  shown 
in  a passage  of  a little  work,  called  the  Journal  of  a 
Seaman,  written  in  1755,  published  by  Murray  ii 
1815.  “How  often,”  says  the  author,  “have 
wished  to  have  the  associate  of  my  youth.  Bill  Fal 
coner,  with  me  to  explore  these  beauties,  and  to 
read  them  in  his  sweet  poetry.  But,  alas ! I parted 
with  him  in  Old  England,  never  perhaps  to  meet 
more  in  this  world.  His  may  be  a happier  lot,  led 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


icxi 


by  a gentler  star:  he  may  pass  through  this  busy 
scene  with  more  ease  and  tranquillity  than  has  been 
the  fortune  of  his  humble  friend,  Penrose.”  * 

In  considering  the  merits  of  the  poem  of  The 
Shipwreck,  it  is  necessary  to  dismiss  from  our  minds 
the  exaggerated  praises  which  are  to  be  met  with  in 
the  pages  of  some  of  his  editors,  as  Dr.  S.  Clarke 
and  Mr.  Chalmers,  neither  of  whom,  as  appears  to 
me,  had  any  pretensions  to  be  considered  judges  of 
poetical  excellence.  If  the  poem  is  estimated  by 
a judgment  lying  between  its  positive  merits  and 
the  disadvantages  under  which  it  was  composed,  — - 
undoubtedly  the  author  will  receive  no  slight  pro- 
portion of  praise.  And  though,  with  the  exception 
of  some  happier  parts,  it  cannot  satisfy  the  taste 
which  has  been  formed  on  the  finished  writings  of 
our  leading  poets,  yet  it  is  a singularly  elegant  pro 
duction  of  a person  who  had  received  no  education: 
beyond  the  mere  elements  of  language,  and  who 
was  subsequently  occupied  in  the  severe  duties 
and  business  of  a seafaring  life  — equally  without 
learning  or  leisure.  The  poetical  powers  of  Fal- 
coner, in  whatever  rank  they  may  be  placed,  were 
tlie  gift  of  nature ; for  any  assistance  they  may  have 
derived  from  subsequent  application  was  only  a 
proof  that  the  original  powers  previously  existed 

* See  Lives  of  the  Scottish  Poets,  1822,  vol.  iii.  p.  77.  The  life 
of  Falconer  is  signed  K.  E.  It  is  doubtful  whether  this  journal 
Df  Penrose  is  real  or  fictitious.  — v.  Quarterly  Rev. 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


xxii 

The  Milton  of  the  village  remained  neither  mute 
nor  inglorious.* 

The  plan  of  the  poem  is  simple,  but  not  defective ; 
though  it  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  it  might  have 
been  improved  by  a greater  diversity  of  character, 
and  a more  powerful  and  animated  variety  of  de- 
scription. In  fact,  there  is  not  much  to  praise  in  the 
curiosity  of  the  design,  or  the  complication  of  cir- 
cumstances through  which  it  was  conducted : but 
though  inartificial,  it  is  not  carelessly  or  inefficiently 
arranged.  That  the  description  of  the  general 
distress,  which  has  occupied  the  mind  of  the  reader 
through  the  former  portion  of  the  poem,  should  at 
last  merge  in  the  narration  of  particular  and  per- 
sonal history,  as  in  the  case  of  Palemon,  was  justly 
and  happily  conceived,  and  thus  a dramatic  char- 
acter is  drawn  over  the  close.  It  is  agreed  that  the 
nautical  descriptions  are  appropriate  and  correct. 
The  great  fault  of  the  poem  is  one  that  extends 
through  its  entire  composition,  and  consists  in  the 
absence  of  any  very  striking  and  original  bursts  of 
genius,  — of  that  fresh  and  vivid  colouring  which  is 
given  by  a bright  imagination,  — and  of  those  beau- 
tiful combinations,  happy  associations,  and  masterly 
touches  of  the  great  masters  of  song.  It  is  true 
that  Falconer  is  not  an  imitator  of  his  predecessors 
or  a mannerist  iji  any  particular  school  of  poetry 


♦ “ Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest.”  — Gray. 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


xxiii 


There  are  no  favorite  expressions,  nor  turns  of  lan- 
guage, nor  descriptions  copied  from  preceding  poets  ; 
his  style  is  not  an  echo  of  any  other  writer.  It  is 
most  probable  that  he  had  studied  Pope’s  Homer, 
which  was  the  storehouse  of  all  succeeding  poets, 
and  the  style,  language,  combinations  of  words,  and 
tone  and  modulation  of  wliich  descended  from  poet 
to  poet,  till  it  became  at  one  time  a conventional 
form  of  poetical  speech.  There  are  a few  marks  in 
his  poem  just  sufficient  to  show  that  Falconer  was 
not  unacquainted  with  Pope’s  writings,  and  he  had 
read  sufficiently  to  make  himself  familiar  with  the 
language  of  poetry  in  his  day : indeed  much  of  the 
flatness  and  tameness  of  his  expressions  arises  from 
his  use  of  this  long  worn  and  current  coin  of  Par- 
nassus. 

Mr.  Campbell  has  justly  observed  — that  “his 
diction  too  generally  abounds  with  common-place 
expletives,  and  feeble  lines.”  Of  the  first,  I should 
point  out  such  as,  — ^ black  adversity  — unspotted 
truth  — trembling  order  — melting  tear  — sacred 
Maro’s  art  — brazen  voice  of  battle  — happy  plains 
— and  many  others  of  the  like  kind.  Of  the  latter, 
such  lines  as  the  following : — 

Determin’d  from  whatever  point  they  rise, 

To  trust  his  fortune  to  the  seas  and  skies; 

and 

This  vast  phenomenon  whose  lofty  head.* 

• We  remember  our  late  lamented  friend,  the  learr?ed  transla- 


XXIV 


LIFE  OP  FALCONER. 


Add  to  this,  that  the  construction  of  Falconer’s  verse 
is  not  often  vigorous,  or  musically  varied,  and  that 
there  is  an  ungraceful  change  of  the  past  and  pres- 
ent tenses.  Such  are  the  defects  that  might  be 
expected,  in  the  work  of  a person  imperfectly  edu- 
cated, and  who,  though  possessing  a taste  and  feel- 
ing for  poetry,  and  a power  of  embodying  his  ideas 
in  poetical  language,  yet  had  not  any  of  those  strong 
and  original  powers  which  can  burst  through  all 
obstacles,  and  compensate  for  all  defects.  Such 
was  Burns,  — and  such  is  Ebenezer  Elliot,  the  man 
of  all  the  self-educated  poets,  since  the  days  of  Burns, 
of  the  most  original  powers,  the  finest  imagination, 
and  the  most  copious  and  animated  style. 

There  is  little  in  the  descriptions  of  the  scenery 
of  Greece,  or  of  the  isles  that  crown  the  ^gean 
main,”  that  could  not  have  been  written  equally  well 
without  the  aid  of  personal  observation;  nothing 
graphic  and  local  in  the  touches ; and  the  various 
allusions  to  the  historic  fame,  and  the  heroic  char- 
acters of  Greece,  are  too  faint  and  general  to  afford 
much  delight.  With  regard  to  the  introduction  of 
sea  phrases,  I agree  with  Campbell  — “ that  the 
effect  of  some  of  them  is  to  give  a definite  and 
authentic  character  to  his  descriptions ; but  that  of 
most  of  them,  to  a landsman’s  ear,  resembles  slang 

tor  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  repeating  to  us  an  Ode  to  Venus,  the 
tot  line  of  which  was, 

Before  I enter  on  this  great  affair,  etc. 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


XXV 


and  produces  obscurity.”  — Such  appear  to  me  the 
defects  of  this  poem ; yet  notwithstanding  these,  the 
(Shipwreck  will  probably  remain,  as  it  has  always 
been,  a popular  poem  — not  popular  among  the 
higher  classes  of  society,  nor  with  those  who  require, 
tor  the  gratification  of  their  taste,  the  delicate  and 
curious  finish  of  the  perfect  artist ; or  those  who  can 
delight  alone  in  the  flashes  and  outbreaks  of  the 
most  powerful  intellects,  in  the  most  original  con- 
ceptions, and  the  richest  combinations  of  thought  and 
imagery : — but  to  others,  and  those  perhaps  the 
most  numerous.  Falconer’s  poem  wiU  always  be  a 
source  of  rational  gratification.  The  subject  itself  is 
interesting  — the  scenery  which  belongs  to  it  — the 
descriptions  of  natural  objects  — the  changes  and 
various  aspects  of  nature  — the  sunshine  and  the 
storm  — the  calm  and  the  tempest;  while  the  in- 
creasing interest  of  the  story  — the  impending  dan- 
ger of  the  ship  — the  courage  and  constancy  of  the 
crew  — the  vivid  descriptions  of  the  terrific  storm 
— these  all  combine  in  keeping  the  attention  alive, 
and  awakening  strong  sympathy  in  persons  whose 
feelings  are  easily  aroused ; which  are  neither  re- 
pressed nor  stifled  by  the  customs  and  courtesies  of 
refined  society;  nor  weakened  by  a too  fiequent 
indulgence  in  stories  of  fictitious  calamity. 

There  are  some  elegant  and  poetical  lines  scat- 
tered through  the  narrative,  as 

Or  win  the  anchor  from  his  dark  abode. 


XXVI  LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 

Again  on  the  same  subject, 

Uptorn,  reluctant,  from  its  oozy  cave, 

The  pond’rous  anchor  rises  on  the  wave; 

and 

Prone  on  the  midnight  surge  with  parting  breath; 

and 

Soft  as  the  happy  swain’s  enchanting  lay 
That  pipes  among  the  shades  of  Endermay; 

and 

In  every  look  the  Paphian  graces  shine, 

Soft  breathing  o’er  his  cheek  their  bloom  divine. 

There  are  also  some  longer  passages  of  superior 
merit,  one  or  two  of  which  we  extract. 

Immortal  train ! w^ho  guide  the  maze  of  song, 

To  whom  all  science,  arts,  and  arms  belong. 

Who  bid  the  trumpet  of  eternal  fame 
Exalt  the  warrior’s  and  the  poet’s  name. 

Or  in  lamenting  elegies  express 
The  varied  pang  of  exquisite  distress ; 

If  e’er  with  trembling  hope  * I fondly  stray’d 
In  life’s  fair  morn  beneath  your  hallow’d  shade. 

To  hear  the  sweetly-mournful  lute  complain. 

And  melt  the  heart  with  ecstasy  of  pain. 

Or  listen  to  the  enchanting  voice  of  love. 

While  all  Elysium  warbled  through  the  grove ; 

Oh ! by  the  hollow  blast  that  moans  around. 

That  sweeps  the  wild  harp  with  a plaintive  sound ; 

By  the  long  surge  that  foams  through  yonder  cave. 

Whose  vaults  remurmur  to  the  roaring  wave; 

With  living  colours  give  my  verse  to  glow, 

The  sad  memorial  of  a tale  of  woe  1 


* “ There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose.”  — Gray, 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 

The  fate,  in  lively  sorrow,  to  deplore 
Of  wanderers  shipwreck’d  on  a leeward  shore. 

Alas ! neglected  by  the  sacred  Nine, 

Their  suppliant  feels  no  genial  ray  divine : 

Ah!  will  they  leave  Pieria’s  happy  shore. 

To  plough  the  tide  where  wintry  tempests  roar? 

Or  shall  a youth  approach  their  hallow’d  fane. 
Stranger  to  Phoebus  and  the  tuneful  train  ? 

Far  from  the  Muses’  academic  grove, 

’Twas  his  the  vast  and  trackless  deep  to  rove; 
Alternate  change  of  climates  has  he  known. 

And  felt  the  fierce  extremes  of  either  zone ; 

Where  polar  skies  congeal  th’  eternal  snow, 

Or  equinoctial  suns  forever  glow. 

Smote  by  the  freezing,  or  the  scorching  blast, 

“A  ship-boy  on  the  high  and  giddy  mast,” 

From  regions  where  Peruvian  billows  roar. 

To  the  bleak  coasts  of  savage  Labrador; 

From  where  Damascus,  pride  of  Asian  plains, 
Stoops  her  proud  neck  beneath  tyrannic  chains, 

To  where  the  Isthmus,  laved  by  adverse  tides, 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  seas  divides. 

But  while  he  measured  o’er  the  painful  race 
In  fortune’s  wild  illimitable  chase, 

Adversity,  companion  of  his  way. 

Still  o’er  the  victim  hung  with  iron  sway, 

Bade  new  distresses  every  instant  grow. 

Marking  each  change  of  place  with  change  of  woe. 
****** 
Such  joyless  toils,  in  early  youth  endured. 

The  expanding  dawn  of  mental  day  obscured, 

Each  genial  passion  of  the  soul  opprest. 

And  quench’d  the  ardour  kindling  in  his  breast. 
Then  censure  not  severe  the  native  song; 

Though  jarring  sounds  the  measured  verse  prolong. 
Though  terms  uncouth  ofiend  the  softer  ear, 

Yet  truth,  and  human  anguish  deign  to  hear: 


xxvii 


xxviii 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


No  laurel  wreaths  these  lays  attempt  to  claim, 

Nor  sculptured  brass  to  tell  the  poet’s  name. 

0 first-born  daughter  of  primeval  time ! 

By  whom  transmitted  down  in  every  clime 
The  deeds  of  ages  long  elapsed  are  known, 

And  blazon’d  glories  spread  from  zone  to  zone; 

Whose  magic  breath  dispels  the  mental  night, 

And  o’er  the  obscured  idea  pours  the  light; 

Say  on  what  seas,  for  thou  alone  canst  tell, 

AVhat  dire  mishap  a fated  ship  befell, 

Assail’d  by  tempests,  girt  with  hostile  shores. 

Arise ! approach ! unlock  thy  treasured  stores ! 

Full  on  my  soul  the  dreadful  scene  display. 

And  give  its  latent  horrors  to  the  day. 

I shall  add  to  this  the  character  of  ‘‘Arion/^  in 
which  the  poet  himself  is  designed. 

To  Rodmond,  next  in  order  of  command. 

Succeeds  the  youngest  of  our  naval  band: 

But  what  avails  it  to  record  a name 

That  courts  no  rank  among  the  sons  of  fame ; 

Whose  vital  spring  had  just  began  to  bloom. 

When  o’er  it  sorrow  spread  her  sickening  gloom? 

While  yet  a stripling,  oft  with  fond  alarms 
His  bosom  danced  to  Nature’s  boundless  charms; 

On  him  fair  science  dawn’d  in  happier  hour. 

Awakening  into  bloom  young  fancy's  flower : 

But  soon  adversity,  with  freezing  blast. 

The  blossom  wither’d,  and  the  dawn  o’ercast. 

Forlorn  of  heart,  and  by  severe  decree 
Condemn’d  reluctant  to  the  faithless  sea. 

With  long  farewell  he  left  the  laurel  grove 
Where  science  and  the  tuneful  sisters  rove. 

Hither  he  wander’d,  anxious  to  explore 
Antiquities  of  nations  now  no  more ; 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


XXIX 


To  penetrate  each  distant  realm  unknown, 

And  range  excursive  o’er  the  untravell’d  zone: 

In  vain  — for  rude  adversity’s  command 
Still,  on  the  margin  of  each  famous  land, 

With  unrelenting  ire  his  steps  opposed, 

And  every  gate  of  hope  against  him  closed. 

Permit  my  verse,  ye  blest  Pierian  train ! 

To  call  Arion  this  ill-fated  swain ; 

For  like  that  bard  unhappy,  on  his  head 
Malignant  stars  their  hostile  influence  shed. 

Both,  in  lamenting  numbers,  o’er  the  deep 
With  conscious  anguish  taught  the  harp  to  weep; 

And  both  the  raging  surge  in  safety  bore. 

Amid  destruction,  panting  to  the  shore. 

This  last,  our  tragic  story  from  the  wave 
Of  dark  oblivion,  haply,  j^et  may  save; 

With  genuine  sympathy  may  yet  complain. 

While  sad  remembrance  bleeds  at  every  vein. 

Of  Falconer’s  minor  poems,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
say  much ; they  can  do  no  honour  to  the  author  of 
the  Shipwreck.  The  poem  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales  is  written  in  the  following  style ; 
which  may  be  called  the  Old  Elegiac:  — 

0 bear  me  to  some  awful  silent  glade 
Where  cedars  form  an  unremitting  shade ; 

Where  never  track  of  human  feet  was  known; 

Where  never  cheerful  light  of  Phoebus  shone; 

Where,  chirping  linnets  warble  tales  of  love. 

And  hoarser  winds  howl  murmuring  through  the  grove; 
Where  some  unhappy  wretch  aye  mourns  his  doom, 

Deep  melancholy  wandering  through  the  gloom; 

Where  solitude  and  meditation  roam. 

And  where  no  dawning  glimpse  of  hope  can  come. 

Place  me  in  such  an  unfrequented  shade. 

To  speak  to  none  but  with  the  mighty  dead : 


yxv 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER. 


To  assist  the  pouring  rains  with  brimful  eyes, 

And  aid  hoarse  howling  Boreas  with  my  sighs. 

Ye  powers,  and  must  a prince  so  noble  die, 

Whose  equal  breathes  not  under  the  ambient  sky  ? 

The  poem  called  the  Demagogue  is  filled  with 
abuse  of  Lord  Chatham  in  most  virulent  and  un- 
measured terms.  The  language  is  in  many  parts 
inflated,  in  others,  mean  and  prosaic;  of  the  former 
the  following  lines  will  be  an  example : — 

]\Iethinks  I hear  the  bellowing  demagogue 
Dumb-sounding  declamations  disembogue; 

Expressions  of  immeasurable  length, 

Where  pompous,  jargon  fills  the  place  of  strength; 

Where  fulminating,  rumbling  eloquence. 

With  loud  theatric  rage,  bombards  the  sense ; 

And  words  deep  ranked  in  horrible  array 
Exasperated  metaphors  convey. 

And  these  again  sink  into  such  couplets  as  the 
following : — 

But  all  the  events  collected  to  relate. 

Let  us  his  actions  recapitulate. 

The  ballad  of  the  ‘‘Fond  Lover is  the  most 
pleasing  of  his  minor  productions. 


LIFE  OF  FALCONER, 


XXXI 


THE  DIRGE  OF  POOR  ARION* 

What  pale  and  bleeding  youth  (while  the  fell  blast 
Howls  o’er  the  wreck,  and  fainter  sinks  the  cry 
Of  struggling  wretches  ere  o’erwhelmed  they  die) 

Yet  floats  upborne  upon  the  driving  mast? 

0 poor  Arion!  has  thy  sweetest  strain, 

That  charm’d  old  Ocean’s  wildest  solitude, 

At  this  dread  hour  his  waves’  dark  might  subdued  ? 

Let  sea-maids  thy  reclining  head  sustain; 

And  wipe  the  blood,  and  briny  drops,  that  soil 
Thy  locks,  and  give  once  more  thy  wreathed  shell 
To  ring  with  melody: — Oh  fruitless  toil ! 

Hark!  o’er  thy  head  again  the  tempests  swell; 

Hark!  hark  again  the  storm’s  black  demons  yell 
More  loud;  the  bellowing  deep  reclaims  his  spoil! 

Peace ! and  may  weeping  sea-maids  sing  the  knell. 

W.  L.  Bowles. 


Farewell,  poor  Falconer!  when  the  dark  sea 
Bursts  like  despair,  I shall  remember  thee ; 

Nor  ever  from  the  sounding  beach  depart 
Without  thy  music  stealing  on  my  heart, 

And  thinking  still  I hear  dread  Ocean  say, 

Thou  hast  declared  my  might,  be  thou  my  prey! 

W.  L.  Bowles. 


• Written  on  the  platform  at  Portsmouth,  April  16,  1803. 


THE  SHIPWRECK, 

IN  THREE  CANTOS. 


mK  TIME  E3IPLOYED  IN  THIS  POEM  IS  ABOUT  SIX  DATS. 


Quaeque  ipse  miserrima  vidi, 

Et  quorum  pars  magna  fui.  — Viaa.  JSn.  lib.  ii. 


1 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION, 


PUBLISHED  BY  A.  MILLAR,  IN  OCTAVO,  1764. 

WITH  A CHART  OF  THE  SHIP’S  PATH  FROM  CANDIA  TO 
CAPE  COLONNA. 

It  is  perhaps  necessary  to  acquaint  the  public, 
that  the  author  of  this  poem  designed  not  at  first  to 
enlarge  the  work  with  so  many  notes,  and,  to  avoid 
this,  proposed  to  refer  his  readers  to  any  one  of  the 
modern  dictionaries,  which  should  be  thought  most 
proper  for  explaining  the  technical  terms  occasion- 
ally mentioned  in  the  poem  ; but,  after  strict  exam- 
ination of  them  all,  including  a silly,  inadequate 
performance  that  has  lately  appeared,  by  a sea- 
officer,*  he  could  by  no  means  recommend  their 
explanations,  without  forfeiting  his  claim  to  the  char- 
acter assumed  in.  the  title-page,  of  which  he  is  much 
more  tenacious  than  of  his  reputation  as  a poet. 

Although  it  is  so  frequent  a practice  to  take  the 
advantage  of  public  approbation,  and  raise  the  price 
of  performances  that  have  been  much  encouraged, 
the  author  chooses  to  steer  in  a quite  different 

• Can  a sea-officer  be  so  ignorant  as  to  mistake  the  names  of 
the  most  common  things  in  a ship  ? 


4 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


channel : it  being  a considerable  time  since  the  first 
edition  sold  off  (notwithstanding  the  high  price,  and 
the  singularity  of  the  subject),  he  might  very  justly 
continue  the  price ; but  as  it  deterred  a number  of 
the  inferior  officers  of  the  sea  from  purchasing  it,  at 
their  repeated  requests  it  has  been  printed  now  in  a 
smaller  edition:  at  the  same  time,  the  author  is 
sorry  to  observe,  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  sea,  for 
whose  entertainment  it  was  chiefly  calculated,  have 
hardly  made  one  tenth  of  the  purchasers. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION, 

DATED  FROM  SOMERSET  HOUSE,  OCTOBER  1,  1769,  THE 
YEAR  IN  WHICH  FALCONER  SAILED  FOR  INDIA. 

The  favourable  reception  which  this  performance 
has  hitherto  met  with  from  the  public,  has  encour- 
aged the  author  to  give  it  a strict  and  thorough 
revision ; in  the  course  of  which,  he  flatters  himself, 
it  will  be  found  to  have  received  very  considerable 
improvements. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  POEM. 


While  jarring  interests  wake  the  world  to  armS; 
And  fright  the  peaceful  vale  with  dire  alarms ; 
Wliile  Albion  bids  the  avenging  thunder  roll 
Along  her  vassal  deep  from  pole  to  pole ; 

Sick  of  the  scene,  where  war  with  ruthless  hand 
Spreads  desolation  o’er  the  bleeding  land ; 

Sick  of  the  tumult,  where  the  trumpet’s  breath 
Bids  ruin  smile,  and  drowns  the  groan  of  death ; 

’T  is  mine,  retired  beneath  this  cavern  hoar 
That  stands  all  lonely  on  the  sea-beat  shore. 

Far  other  themes  of  deep  distress  to  sing 
Than  ever  trembled  from  the  vocal  string ; 

A scene  from  dumb  oblivion  to  restore. 

To  fame  unknown,  and  new  to  epic  lore : 

Where  hostile  elements  conflicting  rise. 

And  lawless  surges  swell  against  the  skies, 

Till  hope  expires,  and  peril  and  dismay 
Wave  their  black  ensigns  on  the  watery  way. 
Immortal  train  ! who  guide  the  maze  of  song, 


6 


INTRODUCTION. 


20] 


To  whom  all  science,  arts,  and  arms  belong, 

Who  bid  the  trumpet  of  eternal  fame 
Exalt  the  warrior’s  and  the  poet’s  name, 

Or  in  lamenting  elegies  express 
The  varied  pang  of  exquisite  distress ; 

If  e’er  with  trembling  hope  I fondly  stray’d 
In  life’s  fair  morn  beneath  your  hallow’d  shade, 

To  hear  the  sweetly-mournful  lute  complain, 

And  melt  the  heart  with  ecstasy  of  pain. 

Or  listen  to  the  enchanting  voice  of  love. 

While  all  Elysium  warbled  through  the  grove ; 

Oh ! by  the  hollow  blast  that  moans  around, 

That  sweeps  the  wild  harp  with  a plaintive  sound ; 
By  the  long  surge  that  foams  through  yonder  cave. 
Whose  vaults  remurmur  to  the  roaring  wave ; 
With  living  colours  give  my  verse  to  glow, 

The  sad  memorial  of  a tale  of  woe ! 

The  fate,  in  lively  sorrow,  to  deplore 
Of  wanderers  shipwreck’d  on  a leeward  shore. 

Alas ! neglected  by  the  sacred  Nine, 

Their  suppliant  feels  no  genial  ray  divine : 

Ah ! will  they  leave  Pieria’s  happy  shore, 

To  plough  the  tide  where  wintry  tempests  roar? 
Or  shall  a youth  approach  their  hallow’d  fane. 
Stranger  to  Phoebus  and  the  tuneful  train  ? 

Far  from  the  Muses’  academic  grove, 


461 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


'Twas  his  the  vast  and  trackless  deep  to  rove; 
Alternate  change  of  climates  has  he  known, 

And  felt  the  fierce  extremes  of  either  zone : 

Wliere  polar  skies  congeal  the  eternal  snow*, 

Or  equinoctial  suns  forever  glow, 

Smote  by  the  freezing,  or  the  scorching  blast, 

“ A ship-boy  on  the  high  and  giddy  mast,” 

From  regions  where  Peruvian  billows  roar. 

To  the  bleak  coasts  of  savage  Labrador ; 

From  where  Damascus,  pride  of  Asian  plains. 
Stoops  her  proud  neck  beneath  tyrannic  chains. 

To  where  the  Isthmus,  laved  by  adverse  tides, 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  seas  divides. 

But  while  he  measured  o’er  the  painful  race 
In  fortune’s  wild  illimitable  chase. 

Adversity,  companion  of  his  way. 

Still  o’er  the  victim  hung  with  iron  sway. 

Bade  new  distresses  every  instant  grow. 

Marking  each  change  of  place  with  change  of  woe ; 
In  regions  where  the  Almighty’s  chastening  hand 
With  livid  pestilence  afflicts  the  land. 

Or  where  pale  famine  blasts  the  hopeful  year. 
Parent  of  want  and  misery  severe ; 

Or  where,  all-dreadful  in  the  embattled  line. 

The  hostile  ships  in  flaming  combat  join. 

Where  the  torn  vessel  wind  and  waves  assail, 


8 


INTRODUCTION. 


72 


Till  o’er  her  crew  distress  and  death  prevail.  — 
Such  joyless  toils,  in  early  youth  endured, 

The  expanding  dawn  of  mental  day  obscured, 

Each  genial  passion  of  the  soul  opprest. 

And  quench’d  the  ardour  kindling  in  his  breast. 
Then  censure  not  severe  the  native  song ; 

Though  jarring  sounds  the  measured  verse  prolong 
Though  terms  uncouth  offend  the  softer  ear. 

Yet  truth,  and  human  anguish  deign  to  hear : 

No  laurel  wreaths  these  lays  attempt  to  claim. 

Nor  sculptured  brass  to  tell  the  poet’s  name. 

And  lo ! the  power  that  wakes  the  eventful  song 
Hastes  hither  from  Lethean  banks  along ; 

She  sweeps  the  gloom,  and,  rushing  on  the  sight. 
Spreads  o’er  the  kindling  scene  propitious  light 
In  her  right  hand  an  ample  roll  appears. 

Fraught  with  long  annals  of  preceding  years. 

With  every  wise  and  noble  art  of  man 

Since  first  the  circling  hours  their  course  began : 

Her  left  a silver  wand  on  high  display’d. 

Whose  magic  touch  dispels  oblivion’s  shade. 
Pensive  her  look ; on  radiant  wings,  that  glow 
Like  Juno’s  birds,  or  Iris’  flaming  bow. 

She  sails ; and  swifter  than  the  course  of  light 
Directs  her  rapid  intellectual  flight. 

The  fugitive  ideas  she  restores, 


981 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


And  calls  the  wandering  thought  from  Lethe’s  shores ; 
To  things  long  past  a second  date  she  gives, 

And  hoary  time,  from  her,  fresh  youth  receives ; 
Congenial  sister  of  immortal  Fame, 

Slie  shares  her  power,  and  Memory  is  her  name. 

O first-born  daughter  of  primeval  time  ! 

By  whom  transmitted  down  in  every  clime 
The  deeds  of  ages  long  elapsed  are  known. 

And  blazon’d  glories  spread  from  zone  to  zone ; 
Whose  magic  breath  dispels  the  mental  night. 

And  o’er  the  obscured  idea  pours  the  light ; 

Say  on  what  seas,  for  thou  alone  canst  tell, 

Wliat  dire  mishap  a fated  ship  befell. 

Assail’d  by  tempests,  girt  with  hostile  shores. 

Arise!  approach!  unlock  thy  treasured  stores! 

Full  on  my  soul  the  dreadful  scene  display, 

And  give  its  latent  horrors  to  the  day. 


4 

'i 

i 


FIRST  CANTO 


tHE  SCENE  OP  WHICH  LIES  NEAR  THE  CITY  OP 
CANDIA. 

TIME,  ABOUT  FOUR  DATS  AND  A HALF. 


AEGUMENT. 


I.  Retrospect  of  the  voyage.  Arrival  at  Candia.  State  of  that 
island.  Season  of  the  year  described.  — II.  Character  of  the 
master,  and  his  officers,  Albert,  Rodmond,  and  Arion.  Pale- 
mon,  son  to  the  owner  of  the  ship.  Attachment  of  Palemon  to 
Anna,  the  daughter  of  Albert.  — III.  Noon.  Paleinon’s  his- 
tory.— IV.  Sunset.  Midnight.  Arion’ s dream.  Unmoor  by 
moonlight.  ^Morning.  Sun’s  azimuth  taken.  Beautiful  ap- 
pearance of  the  ship,  as  seen  by  the  natives  from  the  shore 


THE  SHIPWEECK. 


CANTO  I. 

L A SHIP  from  Egypt,  o’er  the  deep  impell’d 
By  guiding  winds,  her  course  for  Venice  held. 
Of  famed  Britannia  were  the  gallant  crew, 

And  from  that  isle  her  name  the  vessel  drew ; 
The  wayward  steps  of  fortune  they  pursued, 
And  sought  in  certain  ills  imagined  good. 
Though  caution’d  oft  her  slippery  path  to  shun, 
Hope  still  with  promised  joys  allured  them  on ; 
And,  while  they  listen’d  to  her  winning  lore. 

The  softer  scenes  of  peace  could  please  no  more. 
Long  absent  they  from  friends  and  native  home 
The  cheerless  ocean  were  inured  to  roam ; 

Yet  heaven,  in  pity  to  severe  distress. 

Had  crown’d  each  painful  voyage  with  success ; 
Still,  to  compensate  toils  and  hazards  past, 
Restored  them  to  maternal  plains  at  last. 


14 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[17 


Thrice  had  the  sun  to  rule  the  varying  year 
Across  the  equator  roll’d  his  flaming  sphere, 

Since  last  the  vessel  spread  her  ample  sail 
From  Albion’s  coast,  obsequious  to  the  gale. 

She  o’er  the  spacious  flood,  from  shore  to  shore 
Unwearying  wafted  her  commercial  store ; 

The  richest  ports  of  Afric  she  had  view’d, 

Thence  to  fair  Italy  her  course  pursued ; 

Had  left  behind  Trinacria’s  burning  isle. 

And  visited  the  margin  of  the  Nile; 

And  now,  that  winter  deepens  round  the  pole, 

The  circling  voyage  hastens  to  its  goal. 

They,  blind  to  fate’s  inevitable  law. 

No  dark  event  to  blast  their  hope  foresaw. 

But  from  gay  Venice  soon  expect  to  steer 
For  Britain’s  coast,  and  dread  no  perils  near. 
Inflamed  by  hope,  their  throbbing  hearts  elate 
Ideal  pleasures  vainly  antedate. 

Before  whose  vivid  intellectual  ray 
Distress  recedes,  and  danger  melts  away. 

Already  British  coasts  appear  to  rise. 

The  chalky  cliffs  salute  their  longing  eyes ; 

Each  to  his  breast,  where  floods  of  rapture  roll, 
Embracing  strains  the  mistress  of  his  soul ; 

Nor  less  o’erjoy’d,  with  sympathetic  truth. 

Each  faithful  maid  expects  the  approaching  youth ; 


43J 


CANTO  I. 


15 


In  distant  souls  congenial  passions  glow, 

And  mutual  feelings  mutual  bliss  bestow : 

Such  shadowy  happiness  their  thoughts  employ  — 
Illusion  all,  and  visionary  joy ! 

Thus  time  elapsed,  while  o’er  the  pathless  tide 
Their  ship  through  Grecian  seas  the  pilots  guide. 
Occasion  call’d  to  touch  at  Candia’s  shore. 

Which,  blest  with  favouring  winds,  they  soon  ex 
plore ; 

The  haven  enter,  borne  before  the  gale. 

Dispatch  their  commerce,  and  prepare  to  sail. 

Eternal  powers ! what  ruins  from  afar 
Mark  the  fell  track  of  desolating  war : 

Here  arts  and  commerce  with  auspicious  reign 
Once  breathed  sweet  influence  on  the  happy  plain ; 
While  o’er  the  lawn,  with  dance  and  festive  song. 
Young  Pleasure  led  the  jocund  Hours  along ; 

In  gay  luxuriance  Ceres  too  was  seen 
To  crown  the  valleys  with  eternal  green ; 

For  wealth,  for  valour,  courted  and  revered. 

What  Albion  is,  fair  Candia  then  appear’d.  — 

Ah ! who  the  flight  of  ages  can  revoke  ? 

The  free-born  spirit  of  her  sons  is  broke ; 

They  bow  to  Ottoman’s  imperious  yoke ; 

No  longer  fame  their  drooping  heart  inspires. 

For  stem  oppression  quench’d  its  genial  fires. 


16 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[68 


Though  still  her  fields,  with  golden  harvests  crown’d, 
Supply  the  barren  shores  of  Greece  around, 

Sharp  penury  afilicts  these  wretched  isles ; 

There  hope  ne’er  dawns,  and  pleasure  never  smiles ; 
The  vassal  wretch  contented  drags  his  chain. 

And  liears  his  famish’d  babes  lament  in  vain : 

These  eyes  have  seen  the  dull  reluctant  soil 
A seventh  year  mock  the  weary  labourer’s  toil.  — 
No  blooming  Venus,  on  the  desert  shore. 

Now  views  with  triumph  captive  gods  adore ; 

No  lovely  Helens  now  with  fatal  charms 
Excite  the  avenging  chiefs  of  Greece  to  arms ; 

No  fair  Penelopes  enchant  the  eye. 

For  whom  contending  kings  were  proud  to  die ; 
Here  sullen  beauty  sheds  a twilight  ray. 

While  sorrow  bids  her  vernal  bloom  decay : 

Those  charms,  so  long  renown’d  in  classic  strains. 
Had  dimly  shone  on  Albion’s  happier  plains ! 

Now,  in  the  southern  hemisphere,  the  sun 
Through  the  bright  Virgin  and  the  Scales  had  run. 
And  on  the  ecliptic  wheel’d  his  winding  way 
Till  the  fierce  Scorpion  felt  his  flaming  ray. 

Four  days  becalm’d  the  vessel  here  remains. 

And  yet  no  hopes  of  aiding  wind  obtains ; 

For  sickening  vapours  lull  the  air  to  sleep. 

And  not  a breeze  awakes  the  silent  deep : 


94] 


CANTO  I. 


17 


This,  when  the  autumnal  equinox  is  o’er, 

And  Phoebus  in  the  north  declines  no  more, 

The  watchful  mariner,  wdiom  heaven  informs, 

Oft  deems  the  prelude  of  approaching  storms.  — 

No  dread  of  storms  the  master’s  soul  restrain, 

A captive  fetter’d  to  the  oar  of  gain : 

His  anxious  heart,  impatient  of  delay. 

Expects  the  wands, to  sail  from  Candia’s  bay; 
Determined,  from  whatever  point  they  rise. 

To  trust  his  fortune  to  the  seas  and  skies. 

Thou  living  ray  of  intellectual  fire. 

Whose  voluntary  gleams  my  verse  inspire. 

Ere  yet  the  deepening  incidents  prevail. 

Till  roused  attention  feel  our  plaintive  tale, 

Record  wdiom  chief  among  the  gallant  crew 
The  unblest  pursuit  of  fortune  hither  drew  : 

Can  sons  of  Neptune,  generous,  brave,  and  bold, 

In  pain  and  hazard  toil  for  sordid  gold  ? 

They  can  ! for  gold  too  oft  wdth  magic  art 
Can  rule  the  passions,  and  corrupt  the  heart : 

This  crowns  the  prosperous  villain  with  applause, 
To  whom  in  vain  sad  merit  pleads  her  cause ; 

This  strews  wnth  roses  life’s  perplexing  road. 

And  leads  the  way  to  pleasure’s  soft  abode ; 

This  spreads  with  slaughter’d  heaps  the  bloody 
plain. 


2 


18 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


fll9 


And  pours  adventurous  thousands  o’er  the  main. 

IL  The  stately  ship,  with  all  her  daring  band, 

To  skilful  Albert  own’d  the  chief  command. 

Thougli  train’d  in  boisterous  elements,  his  mind 
Was  yet  by  soft  humanity  refined ; 

Each  joy  of  wedded  love,  at  home,  he  knew, 
Aboard,  confest  the  father  of  his  crew ; 

Brave,  liberal,  just,  the  calm  domestic  scene 
Had  o’er  his  temper  breathed  a gay  serene. 

Him  science  taught  by  mystic  lore  to  trace 
The  planets  wheeling  in  eternal  race ; 

To  mark  the  ship  in  floating  balance  held, 

By  earth  attracted,  and  by  seas  repell’d ; 

Or  point  her  devious  track  through  climes  unknown 
That  leads  to  every  shore  and  every  zone. 

He  saw  the  moon  through  heaven’s  blue  concave  glide 
And  into  motion  charm  the  expanding  tide, 

While  earth  impetuous  round  her  axle  rolls, 

Exalts  her  watery  zone,  and  sinks  the  poles ; 

Light  and  attraction,  from  their  genial  source, 

He  saw  still  wandering  with  diminish’d  force ; 

While  on  the  margin  of  declining  day 
Night’s  shadowy  cone  reluctant  melts  away. 

Inured  to  peril,  with  unconquer’d  soul. 

The  chief  beheld  tempestuous  oceans  roll : 

O’er  the  wild  surge  when  dismal  shades  preside. 


145J 


CANTO  I. 


19 


His  equal  skill  the  lonely  bark  could  guide , 

His  genius,  ever  for  the  event  prepared, 

Rose  with  the  storm,  and  aU  its  dangers  shared. 

Rodmond  the  next  degree  to  Albert  bore  ; 

A hardy  son  of  England’s  farthest  shore. 

Where  bleak  Northumbria  pours  her  savage  train 
In  sable  squadrons  o’er  the  northern  main ; 

That,  with  her  pitchy  entrails  stored,  resort, 

A sooty  tribe,  to  fair  Augusta’s  port. 

Where’er  in  ambush  lurk  the  fatal  sands. 

They  claim  the  danger,  proud  of  skilful  bands ; 

For  while  with  darkling  course  their  vessels  sweep 
The  winding  shore,  or  plough  the  faithless  deep. 
O’er  bar  and  shelve  the  watery  path  they  sound, 
With  dexterous  arm,  sagacious  of  the  ground. 
Fearless  they  combat  every  hostile  wind. 

Wheeling  in  mazy  tracks,  with  course  inclined ; 
Expert  to  moor  where  terrors  line  the  road. 

Or  win  the  anchor  from  its  dark  abode ; 

But  drooping,  and  relax’d,  in  climes  afar, 
Tumultuous  and  undisciplined  in  war. 

Such  Rodmond  was : by  learning  unrefined, 

That  oft  enlightens  to  corrupt  the  mind ; 

Boisterous  of  manners ; train’d  in  early  youth 
To  scenes  that  shame  the  conscious  cheek  of  truth ; 
To  scenes  that  nature’s  struggling  voice  control, 


20 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[171 


And  freeze  compassion  rising  in  the  soul : 

Where  the  grim  hell-hounds,  prowling  round  the 
shore, 

With  foul  intent  the  stranded  bark  explore ; 

Deaf  to  the  voice  of  woe,  her  decks  they  board, 
While  tardy  justice  slumbers  o'er  her  sword. 

The  indignant  muse,  severely  taught  to  feel, 

Shrinks  from  a theme  she  blushes  to  reveal. 

Too  oft  example,  arm’d  with  poisons  fell. 

Pollutes  the  shrine  where  mercy  loves  to  dwell : 
Thus  Rodmond,  train’d  by  this  unhallow’d  crew, 
The  sacred  social  passions  never  knew. 

Unskill’d  to  argue,  in  dispute  yet  loud. 

Bold  without  caution,  without  honours  proud; 

In  art  unschool’d,  each  veteran  rule  he  prized. 

And  all  improvement  haughtily  despised. 

Yet,  though  full  oft  to  future  perils  blind. 

With  skill  superior  glow’d  his  daring  mind 
Through  snares  of  death  the  reeling  bark  to  guide. 
When  midnight  shades  involve  the  raging  tide. 

To  Rodmond,  next  in  order  of  command, 
Susceeds  the  youngest  of  our  naval  band: 

But  what  avails  it  to  record  a name 

That  courts  no  rank  among  the  sons  of  fame ; 

Whose  vital  spring  had  just  began  to  bloom. 

When  o’er  it  sorrow  spread  her  sickening  gloom  ? 


196] 


CANTO  I. 


21 


Wliile  yet  a stripling,  oft  with  fond  alarms 
His  bosom  danced  to  nature’s  boundless  charms ; 
On  liim  fair  science  dawn’d  in  happier  hour, 
Awakening  into  bloom  young  fancy’s  flower : 

But  soon  adversity,  with  freezing  blast, 

The  blossom  wither’d,  and  the  dawn  o’ercast 
Forlorn  of  heart,  and  by  severe  decree 
Condemn’d  reluctant  to  the  faithless  sea. 

With  long  farewell  he  left  the  laurel  grove 
Where  science  and  the  tuneful  sisters  rove. 
Hither  he  wander’d,  anxious  to  explore 
Antiquities  of  nations  now  no  more; 

To  penetrate  each  distant  realm  unknown. 

And  range  excursive  o’er  the  untravell’d  zone: 

In  vain  — for  rude  adversity’s  command 
Still,  on  the  margin  of  each  famous  land. 

With  unrelenting  ire  his  steps  opposed. 

And  every  gate  of  hope  against  him  closed. 
Permit  my  verse,  ye  blest  Pierian  train  ! 

To  call  Arion  this  ill-fated  swain ; 

For  like  that  bard  unhappy,  on  his  head 
Malignant  stars  their  hostile  influence  shed. 

Both,  in  lamenting  numbers,  o’er  the  deep 
With  conscious  anguish  taught  the  harp  to  weep ; 
And  both  the  raging  surge  in  safety  bore. 

Amid  destruction,  panting  to  the  shore. 


22 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[222 


This  last,  our  tragic  story  from  the  wave 
Of  dark  oblivion,  haply,  yet  may  save ; 

With  genuine  sympathy  may  yet  complain. 

While  sad  remembrance  bleeds  at  every  vein. 

These,  chief  among  the  ship’s  conducting  train, 
Her  path  explored  along  the  deep  domain ; 
Train’d  to  command,  and  range  the  swelling  sail, 
Whose  varying  force  conforms  to  every  gale. 
Charged  with  the  commerce,  hither  also  came 
A gallant  youth,  Palemon  was  his  name ; 

A father’s  stern  resentment  doom’d  to  prove, 

He  came  the  victim  of  unhappy  love ! 

His  heart  for  Albert’s  beauteous  daughter  bled, 
For  her  a sacred  flame  his  bosom  fed : 

Nor  let  the  wretched  slaves  of  folly  scorn 
This  genuine  passion,  nature’s  eldest  born ! 

’Twas  his  with  lasting  anguish  to  complain. 

While  blooming  Anna  mourn’d  the  cause  in  vain. 

Graceful  of  form,  by  nature  taught  to  please. 
Of  power  to  melt  the  female  breast  with  ease. 

To  her  Palemon  told  his  tender  tale 
Soft  as  the  voice  of  summer’s  evening  gale. 

His  soul,  where  moral  truth  spontaneous  grew, 
No  guilty  wish,  no  cruel  passion  knew ; 

Though  tremblingly  alive  to  nature’s  laws. 

Yet  ever  firm  to  honour’s  sacred  cause : 


2481 


CANTO  I. 


23 


O’erjoy’d  he  saw  her  lovely  eyes  relent, 

The  blushing  maiden  smiled  with  sweet  consent. 

Oft  in  the  mazes  of  a neighbouring  grove 
Unheard  they  breathed  alternate  vows  of  love : 

By  fond  society  their  passion  grew, 

Like  the  young  blossom  fed  with  vernal  dew ; 

While  their  chaste  souls  possess’d  the  pleasing  pains 
That  truth  improves,  and  virtue  ne’er  restrains. 

In  evil  hour  the  officious  tongue  of  fame 
Betray’d  the  secret  of  their  mutual  flame. 

With  grief  and  anger  struggling  in  his  breast, 
Palemon’s  father  heard  the  tale  confest : 

Long  had  he  listen’d  with  suspicion’s  ear. 

And  learnt,  sagacious,  this  event  to  fear. 

Too  well,  fair  youth ! thy  liberal  heart  he  knew, 

A heart  to  nature’s  warm  impressions  true : 

Full  oft  his  wisdom  strove  with  fruitless  toil 
With  avarice  to  pollute  that  generous  soil ; 

That  soil  impregnated  with  nobler  seed 
Befused  the  culture  of  so  rank  a weed. 

Elate  with  wealth  in  active  commerce  won. 

And  basking  in  the  smile  of  fortune’s  sun 
(For  many  freighted  ships  from  shore  to  shore, 

Their  wealthy  charge  by  his  appointment  bore). 
With  scorn  the  parent  eyed  the  lowly  shade 
That  veil’d  the  beauties  of  this  charming  maid 


24 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[274 


He,  by  the  lust  of  riches  only  moved, 

Such  mean  connexions  haughtily  reproved ; 
Indignant  he  rebuked  the  enamour’d  boy, 

The  flattering  promise  of  his  future  joy ; 

He  soothed  and  menaced,  anxious  to  reclaim 
This  hopeless  passion,  or  divert  its  aim : 

Oft  led  the  youth  where  circling  joys  delight 
The  ravish’d  sense,  or  beauty  charms  the  sight. 
With  all  her  powers,  enchanting  music  fail’d. 

And  pleasure’s  syren  voice  no  more  prevail’d : 
Long  with  unequal  art,  in  vain  he  strove 
To  quench  the  ethereal  flame  of  ardent  love. 

The  merchant,  kindling  then  with  proud  disdain, 
In  look,  and  voice,  assumed  a harsher  strain : 

In  absence  now  his  only  hope  remain’d ; 

And  such  the  stern  decree  his  will  ordain’d. 

Deep  anguish,  while  Palemon  heard  his  doom, 
Drew  o’er  his  lovely  face  a saddening  gloom ; 

High  beat  his  heart,  fast  flow’d  the  unbidden  tear, 
His  bosom  heaved  with  agony  severe ; 

In  vain  with  bitter  sorrow  he  repined. 

No  tender  pity  touch’d  that  sordid  mind  — 

To  thee,  brave  Albert ! was  the  charge  consign’d. 
The  stately  ship  forsaking  England’s  shore 
To  regions  far  remote  Palemon  bore. 

Incapable  of  change,  the  unhappy  youth 


300] 


CANTO  I. 


26 


Still  loved  fair  Am  a with  eternal  truth ; 

Still  Anna’s  image  swims  before  his  sight 
In  fleeting  vision  through  the  restless  night ; 

From  clime  to  clime  an  exile  doom’d  to  roam, 

His  heart  still  panted  for  its  secret  home. 

The  moon  had  circled  twice  her  wayward  zone, 
To  him  since  young  Arion  first  was  known ; 

Who  wandering  here  through  many  a scene  re^ 
nown’d, 

In  Alexandria’s  port  the  vessel  found ; 

Where,  anxious  to  review  his  native  shore. 

He  on  the  roaring  wave  embark’d  once  more. 

Oft  by  pale  Cynthia’s  melancholy  light 
With  him  Palemon  kept  the  watch  of  night, 

In  whose  sad  bosom  many  a sigh  supprest 
Some  painful  secret  of  the  soul  confest : 

Perhaps  Arion  soon  the  cause  divined, 

Though  shunning  still  to  probe  a wounded  mind ; 
He  felt  the  chastity  of  silent  woe, 

Though  glad  the  balm  of  comfort  to  bestow. 

He  with  Palemon  oft  recounted  o’er 
The  tales  of  hapless  love  in  ancient  lore, 

Pecall’d  to  memory  by  the  adjacent  shore : 

The  scene  thus  present,  and  its  story  known, 

The  lover  sigh’d  for  sorrows  not  his  own. 

Thus,  though  a recent  date  their  friendship  bore. 


26 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[325 


Soon  the  ripe  metal  own’d  the  quickening  ore ; 

For  in  one  tide  their  passions  seem’d  to  roll, 

By  kindred  age  and  sympathy  of  soul. 

These  o’er  the  inferior  naval  train  preside, 

The  course  determine,  or  the  commerce  guide : 

O’er  all  the  rest,  an  undistinguish’d  crew, 

Her  wing  of  deepest  shade  oblivion  drew. 

III.  A sullen  languor  still  the  skies  opprest. 

And  held  the  unwilling  ship  in  strong  arrest. 

High  in  his  chariot  glow’d  the  lamp  of  day. 

O’er  Ida  flaming  with  meridian  ray ; 

Relax’d  from  toil,  the  sailors  range  the  shore. 
Where  famine,  war,  and  storm  are  felt  no  more ; 
The  hour  to  social  pleasure  they  resign. 

And  black  remembrance  drown  in  generous  wine. 
On  deck,  beneath  the  shading  canvas  spread, 
Rodmond  a rueful  tale  of  wonders  read  — 

Of  dragons  roaring  on  the  enchanted  coast. 

The  hideous  goblin,  and  the  yelling  ghost : 

But  with  Arion,  from  the  sultry  heat 
Of  noon,  Palemon  sought  a cool  retreat.  — 

And  lo ! the  shore  with  mournful  prospects  crown’d, 
The  rampart  torn  with  many  a fatal  wound. 

The  ruin’d  bulwark  tottering  o’er  the  strand, 

Bewail  the  stroke  of  war’s  tremendous  hand. 

What  scenes  of  woe  this  hapless  isle  o’erspread. 


351J 


CANTO  1. 


27 


Where  late  thrice  fifty  thousand  warriors  bled : 

Full  twice  twelve  summers  were  yon  towers  assail’d. 
Till  barbarous  Ottoman  at  last  prevail’d ; 

While  thundering  mines  the  lovely  plains  o’erturn’d, 
While  heroes  fell,  and  domes  and  temples  burn’d. 

But  now  before  them  happier  scenes  arise ; 
Elysian  vales  salute  their  ravish’d  eyes : 

Olive  and  cedar  form’d  a grateful  shade, 

Where  light  with  gay  romantic  error  stray’d : 

The  myrtles  here  with  fond  caresses  twine, 

There,  rich  with  nectar,  melts  the  pregnant  vine : 
And  lo ! the  stream,  renown'd  in  classic  song. 

Sad  Lethe,  glides  the  silent  vale  along. 

On  mossy  banks,  beneath  the  citron  grove. 

The  youthful  wanderers  found  a wild  alcove ; 

Soft  o’er  the  fairy  region  languor  stole. 

And  with  sweet  melancholy  charm’d  the  soul. 

Here  first  Palemon,  while  his  pensive  mind 
For  consolation  on  his  friend  reclined. 

In  pity’s  bleeding  bosom,  pour’d  the  stream 
Of  love’s  soft  anguish,  and  of  grief  supreme  : 

T JO  true  thy  words ! by  sweet  remembrance 
taught. 

My  heart  in  secret  bleeds  with  tender  thought ; 

In  vain  it  courts  the  solitary  shade. 

By  every  action,  every  look  betray’d. 


28 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[376 


The  pride  of  generous  woe  disdains  appeal 
To  hearts  that  unrelenting  frosts  congeal ; 

Yet  sure,  if  right  Palemon  can  divine, 

The  sense  of  gentle  pity  dwells  in  thine : 

Yes ! all  his  cares  thy  sympathy  shall  know, 

And  prove  the  kind  companion  of  his  woe. 

‘‘Albert  thou  know’st,  with  skill  and  scienct 
graced ; 

In  humble  station  though  by  fortune  placed. 

Yet  never  seaman  more  serenely  brave 

Led  Britain’s  conquering  squadrons  o’er  the  wave. 

Where  full  in  view  Augusta’s  spires  are  seen. 

With  flowery  lawns  and  waving  woods  between. 

An  humble  habitation  rose,  beside 

Wliere  Thames  meandering  rolls  his  ample  tide. 

There  live  the  hope  and  pleasure  of  his  life, 

A pious  daughter,  and  a faithful  wife : 

For  his  return  with  fond  officious  care 
Still  every  grateful  object  these  prepare : 

Whatever  can  allure  the  smell  or  sight. 

Or  wake  the  drooping  spirits  to  delight. 

“ This  blooming  maid  in  virtue’s  path  to  guide 
The  admiring  parents  all  their  care  applied ; 

Her  spotless  soul  to  soft  affection  train’d. 

No  voice  untuned,  no  sickening  folly  stain’d ; 

Not  fairer  grows  the  lily  of  the  vale. 


401] 


CANTO  I. 


2S 


Whose  bosom  opens  to  the  vernal  gale. 

Her  eyes,  unconscious  of  their  fatal  charms, 
Thrill’d  every  heart  with  exquisite  alarms: 

Her  face,  in  beauty’s  sweet  attraction  drest, 

The  smile  of  maiden  innocence  exprest ; 

While  health,  that  rises  with  the  new-born  day, 
Breathed  o’er  her  cheek  the  softest  blush  of  May : 
Still  in  her  look  complacence  smiled  serene ; 

She  moved  the  charmer  of  the  rural  scene ! 

’T  was  at  that  season,  when  the  fields  resume 
Their  loveliest  hues,  array’d  in  vernal  bloom : 

Yon  ship,  rich  freiglited  from  the  Italian  shore. 
To  Thames’  fair  banks  her  costly  tribute  bore. 
While  thus  my  father  saw  his  ample  hoard. 

From  this  return,  with  recent  treasures  stored, 
Me,  with  affairs  of  commerce  charged,  he  sent 
To  J^lbert’s  humble  mansion  — soon  I went! 

Too  soon,  alas ! unconscious  of  the  event. 

There,  struck  with  sweet  surprise  arid  silent  awe. 
The  gentle  mistress  of*  my  hopes  I saw ; 

There,  wounded  first  by  love’s  resistless  arms. 

My  glowing  bosom  throbb’d  with  strange  alarms. 
My  ever  charming  Anna!  who  alone 
Can  all  the  frowns  of  cruid  fate  atone. 

Oh ! while  all-conscious  memory  holds  her  power, 
Can  I forget  that  sweetly-painful  hour, 


80  THE  SHIPWRECK.  [427 

When  from  those  eyes,  with  lovely  lightning 
fraught, 

My  fluttering  spirits  first  the  infection  caught? 
When,  as  I gazed,  my  faltering  tongue  betray’d 
The  heart’s  quick  tumults,  or  refused  its  aid ; 

While  the  dim  light  my  ravish’d  eyes  forsook, 

And  every  limb,  unstrung  with  terror,  shook. 

With  all  her  powers,  dissenting  reason  strove 
To  tame  at  first  the  kindling  flame  of  love  : 

She  strove  in  vain ; subdued  by  charms  divine, 

My  soul  a victim  fell  at  beauty’s  shrine. 

Oft  from  the  din  of  bustling  life  I stray’d. 

In  happier  scenes  to  see  my  lovely  maid ; 

Full  oft,  where  Thames  his  wandering  current  leads, 
We  j-oved  at  evening  hour  through  flowery  meads ; 
There,  while  my  heart’s  soft  anguish  I reveal’d, 

To  her  with  tender  sighs  my  hope  appeal’d. 

While  the  sweet  nymph  my  faithful  tale  believed, 
Her  snowy  breast  with  secret  tumult  heaved ; 

For,  train’d  in  rural  scenes  from  earliest  youth. 
Nature  was  hers,  and  innocence,  and  truth: 

She  never  knew  the  city  damsel’s  art. 

Whose  frothy  pertness  charms  the  vacant  heart.  — 
My  suit  prevail’d ! for  love  inform’d  my  tongue, 
And  on  his  votary’s  lips  persuasion  hung : 

Her  eyes  with  conscious  sympathy  withdrew, 


CANTO  I. 


452] 

And  o’er  her  cheek  the  rosy  current  flew. 

Thrice  happy  hours ! where  with  no  dark  allay 
Life’s  fairest  sunshine  gilds  the  vernal  day : 

For  here  the  sigh  that  soft  affection  heaves 
From  stings  of  sharper  woe  the  soul  relieves. 
Elysian  scenes  ! too  happy  long  to  last ; 

Too  soon  a storm  the  smiling  dawn  o’ercast ; 

Too  soon  some  demon  to  my  father  bore 
The  tidings,  that  his  heart  with  anguish  tore. 

My  pride  to  kindle,  with  dissuasive  voice 
Awhile  he  labour’d  to  degrade  my  choice : 

Then,  in  the  whirling  wave  of  pleasure,  sought 
From  its  loved  object  to  divert  my  thought. 

With  equal  hope  he  might  attempt  to  bind 
In  chains  of  adamant  the  lawless  wind ; 

For  love  had  aim’d  the  fatal  shaft  too  sure, 

Hope  fed  the  wound,  and  absence  knew  no  cure. 
With  alienated  look,  each  art  he  saw 
Still  baffled  by  superior  nature’s  law : 

His  anxious  mind  on  various  schemes  revolved, 
At  last  on  cruel  exile  he  resolved. 

The  rigorous  doom  was  fix’d ; alas  ! how  vain 
To  him  of  tender  anguish  to  complain : 

His  soul,  that  never  love’s  sweet  influence  felt, 
By  social  sympathy  could  never  melt ; 

With  stern  command  to  Albert’s  charge  he  gave 


1 


32  THE  SHirWRECK.  [4*^8 

To  waft  Palemon  o’er  the  distant  wave. 

‘‘  The  ship  was  laden  and  prepared  to  sail, 

And  only  waited  now  the  leading  gale : 

’T  was  ours,  in  that  sad  period,  first  to  prove 
The  poignant  torments  of  despairing  love ; 

The  impatient  wish,  that  never  feels  repose, 

Desire,  that  with  perpetual  current  flows ; 

The  fluctuating  pangs  of  hope  and  fear, 

Joy  distant  still,  and  sorrow  ever  near. 

Thus,  while  the  pangs  of  thought  severer  grew. 

The  western  breezes  inauspicious  blew. 

Hastening  the  moment  of  our  last  adieu. 

The  vessel  parted  on  the  falling  tide, 

Yet  time  one  sacred  hour  to  love  supplied : 

The  night  was  silent,  and  advancing  fast. 

The  moon  o’er  Thames  her  silver  mantle  cast ; 
Impatient  hope  the  midnight  path  explored, 

And  led  me  to  the  nymph  my  soul  adored. 

Soon  her  quick  footsteps  struck  my  listening  ear, 
She  came  confest ! the  lovely  maid  drew  near ! 

But,  ah ! what  force  of  language  can  impart 
The  impetuous  joy  that  glow’d  in  either  heart ! 

0 ye ! whose  melting  hearts  are  form’d  to  prove 
The  trembling  ecstasies  of  genuine  love ; 

When,  with  delicious  agony,  the  thought 
[s  to  the  verge  of  high  delirium  wrought ; 


504] 


CANTO  I. 


33 


Your  secret  sympathy  alone  can  tell 

What  raptures  then  the  throbbing  bosom  STvell ; 

O’er  all  the  nerves  what  tender  tumults  roll, 

While  love  with  sweet  enchantment  melts  the  soul. 

“ In  transport  lost,  by  trembling  hope  imprest, 

The  blusliing  virgin  sunk  upon  my  breast, 

While  hers  congenial  beat  with  fond  alarms ; 
Dissolving  softness ! Paradise  of  charms  ! 

Flash’d  from  our  eyes,  in  warm  transfusion  flew 
Our  blending  spirits  that  each  other  drew  ! 

O bliss  supreme  ! Avhere  virtue’s  self  can  melt 
With  joys  that  guilty  pleasure  never  felt ; 

Form’d  to  refine  the  thought  with  chaste  desire. 

And  kindle  sweet  affection’s  purest  fire. 

Ah ! wherefore  should  my  hopeless  love,  she  cries  — 
While  sorrow  bursts  with  interrupting  sighs  — 

For  ever  destined  to  lament  in  vain. 

Such  flattering,  fond  ideas  entertain ! 

My  heart  through  scenes  of  fair  illusion  stray’d 
To  joys  decreed  for  some  superior  maid. 

’T  is  mine,  abandon’d  to  severe  distress, 

Still  to  complain,  and  never  hope  redress. 

Go  then,  dear  youth  ! thy  father’s  rage  atone, 

And  let  this  tortured  bosom  beat  alone. 

The  hovering  anger  yet  thou  may’st  appease ; 

Go  then,  dear  youth ! nor  tempt  the  faithless  seas. 

3 


34 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


1530 


Find  out  some  happier  maid,  whose  equal  charms 
With  fortune’s  fairer  joys,  may  bless  thy  arms : 
Where,  smiling  o’er  thee  with  indulgent  ray, 
Prosperity  shall  hail  each  new-born  day. 

Too  well  thou  know’st  good  Albert’s  niggard  fate 
111  fitted  to  sustain  thy  father’s  hate. 

Go  then,  I charge  thee  by  thy  generous  love. 
That  fatal  to  my  father  thus  may  prove ; 

On  me  alone  let  dark  affliction  fall, 

Whose  heart  for  thee  will  gladly  suffer  all. 

Then  haste  thee  hence,  Palemon,  ere  too  late. 
Nor  rashly  hope  to  brave  opposing  fate. 

“ She  ceased : while  anguish  in  her  angel-face 
O’er  all  her  beauties  shower’d  celestial  grace : 

Not  Helen,  in  her  bridal  charms  array’d. 

Was  half  so  lovely  as  this  gentle  maid. — 

O soul  of  all  my  wishes  ! I replied. 

Can  that  soft  fabric  stem  affliction’s  tide  ? 

Canst  thou,  bright  pattern  of  exalted  truth. 

To  sorrow  doom  the  summer  of  thy  youth. 

And  I,  ingrateful ! all  that  sweetness  see 
Consign’d  to  lasting  misery  for  me  ? 

Sooner  this  moment  may  the  eternal  doom 
Palemon  in  the  silent  earth  entomb ! 

Attest,  thou  moon,  fair  regent  of  the  night ! 

Whose  lustre  sickens  at  this  mournful  sight: 


556] 


CANTO  I. 


35 


By  all  the  pangs  divided  lovers  feel, 

Which  sweet  possession  only  knows  to  heal ; 

By  all  the  horrors  brooding  o’er  the  deep, 

Where  fate,  and  ruin,  sad  dominion  keep ; 

Though  tyrant  duty  o’er  me  threatening  stands, 

And  claims  obedience  to  her  stern  commands, 

Should  fortune,  cruel  or  auspicious  prove. 

Her  smile,  or  frown,  shall  never  change  my  love 
My  heart,  that  now  must  every  joy  resign, 

Incapable  of  change,  is  only  thine. 

“ Oh,  cease  to  weep,  this  storm  will  yet  decay. 
And  the  sad  clouds  of  sorrow  melt  away : 

AVhile  through  the  rugged  path  of  life  we  go. 

All  mortals  taste  the  bitter  draught  of  woe. 

The  famed  and  great,  decreed  to  equal  pain, 

F ull  oft  in  splendid  wretchedness  complain  : 

For  this,  prosperity,  with  brighter  ray 
In  smiling  contrast  gilds  our  vital  day. 

Thou  too,  sweet  maid!  ere  twice  ten  months  are 
o’er. 

Shall  hail  Palemon  to  his  native  shore. 

Where  never  interest  shall  divide  us  more.  — 

“ Her  struggling  soul,  o’erwhelm’d  with  tender 
grief, 

Now  found  an  interval  of  short  relief: 

So  melts  the  surface  of  the  frozen  stream 


36 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[580 


Beneath  the  wintry  sun’s  departing  beam. 

With  cruel  haste  the  shades  of  night  withdrew, 
And  gave  the  signal  of  a sad  adieu. 

As  on  my  neck  the  afHicted  maiden  hung, 

A thousand  racking  doubts  her  spirit  wu'ung ; 

She  wept  the  terrors  of  the  fearful  wave, 

Too  oft,  alas ! the  wandering  lover’s  grave : 

With  soft  persuasion  I dispell’d  her  fear. 

And  from  her  cheek  beguiled  the  falling  teai. 
While  dying  fondness  languish’d  in  her  eyes. 

She  pour’d  her  soul  to  heaven  in  suppliant  sighs : 
Look  down  with  pity,  O ye  powers  above ! 

Who  hear  the  sad  complaint  of  bleeding  love ; 
Ye,  who  the  secret  laws  of  fate  explore, 

Alone  can  tell  if  he  returns  no  more  ; 

Or  if  the  hour  of  future  joy  remain, 

Loiig-wish’d  atonement  of  long-suffer’d  pain. 

Bid  every  guardian  minister  attend. 

And  from  all  ill  the  much-loved  youth  defend. 
With  grief  o’erwhelm’d  we  parted  twdce  in  vain, 
And,  urged  by  strong  attraction,  met  again. 

At  last,  by  cruel  fortune  torn  apart 
While  tender  passion  beat  in  either  heart. 

Our  eyes  transfix’d  with  agonizing  look. 

One  sad  farewell,  one  last  embrace  we  took. 
Forlorn  of  hope  the  lovely  maid  I left, 


606] 


CANTO  I. 


37 


Pensive  and  pale,  of  every  joy  bereft : 

She  to  her  silent  couch  retired  to  weep, 

Whilst  I embark’d,  in  sadness,  on  the  deep.” 

His  tale  thus  closed,  from  sympathy  of  grief 
Palemon’s  bosom  felt  a sweet  relief : 

To  mutual  friendship  thus  sincerely  true, 

No  secret  wish,  or  fear,  their  bosoms  knew ; 

In  mutual  hazards  oft  severely  tried. 

Nor  hope,  nor  danger,  could  their  love  divide. 

Ye  tender  maids ! in  whose  pathetic  souls 
Compassion’s  sacred  stream  impetuous  rolls. 
Whose  warm  affections  exquisitely  feel 
The  secret  wound  you  tremble  to  reveal ; 

Ah  ! may  no  wanderer  of  the  stormy  main 
Pour  through  your  breasts  the  soft  delicious  bane ; 
May  never  fatal  tenderness  approve 
The  fond  effusions  of  their  ardent  love. 

Oil ! warn’d,  avoid  the  path  that  leads  to  woe. 
Where  thorns,  and  baneful  weeds,  alternate  grow ; 
Let  them  severer  stoic  nymphs  possess. 

Whose  stubborn  passions  feel  no  soft  distress. 

Now  as  the  youths  returning  o’er  the  plain 
Approach’d  the  lonely  margin  of  the  main. 

First,  with  attention  roused,  Arion  eyed 
The  graceful  lover,  form’d  in  nature’s  pride : 

His  frame  the  happiest  symmetry  display’d, 


38 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


And  locks  of  waving  gold  his  neck  array’d ; 

In  every  look  the  Paphian  graces  shine, 

Soft  breathing  o’er  his  cheek  their  bloom  divine 
With  lighten’d  heart  he  smiled  serenely  gay, 
Like  young  Adonis,  or  the  son  of  May. 

Not  Cytherea  from  a fairer  swain 
Received  her  apple  on  the  Trojan  plain. 

IV.  The  sun’s  bright  orb,  declining  all  serene 
Now  glanced  obliquely  o’er  the  woodland  scene : 
Creation  smiles  around ; on  every  spray 
The  warbling  birds  exalt  their  evening  lay ; 
Blithe  skipping  o’er  yon  hill,  the  fleecy  train 
Join  the  deep  chorus  of  the  lowing  plain ; 

The  golden  lime,  and  orange,  there  were  seen 
On  fragrant  branches  of  perpetual  green ; 

The  crystal  streams  that  velvet  meadows  lave. 
To  the  green  ocean  roll  with  chiding  wave. 

The  glassy  ocean,  hush’d,  forgets  to  roar. 

But  trembling  murmurs  on  the  sandy  shore : 
And  lo ! his  surface  lovely  to  behold 
Glows  in  the  west,  a sea  of  living  gold ! 

While,  all  above,  a thousand  liveries  gay 
The  skies  with  pomp  ineffable  array. 

Arabian  sweets  perfume  the  happy  plains ; 
Above,  beneath,  around,  enchantment  reigns ! 
While  glowing  Vesper  leads  the  starry  train, 


658] 


CAI^TO  I. 


39 


And  night  slow  draws  her  veil  o’er  land  and  mmn. 
Emerging  clouds  the  azure  east  invade, 

And  wrap  the  lucid  spheres  in  gradual  shade, 
While  yet  the  songsters  of  the  vocal  grove. 

With  dying  numbers  tune  the  soul  to  love : 

With  joyful  eyes  the  attentive  master  sees 
The  auspicious  omens  of  an  eastern  breeze. 

Round  the  charged  bowl  the  sailors  form  a ring ; 
By  turns  recount  the  wondrous  tale,  or  sing. 

As  love,  or  battle,  hardships  of  the  main. 

Or  genial  wine,  awake  the  homely  strain : 

Then  some  the  watch  of  night  alternate  keep. 

The  rest  lie  buried  in  oblivious  sleep. 

Deep  midnight  now  involves  the  livid  skies. 

When  eastern  breezes,  yet  enervate,  rise : 

The  waning  moon  behind  a watery  shroud 
Pale  glimmer’d  o’er  the  long  protracted  cloud ; 

A mighty  halo  round  her  silver  throne. 

With  parting  meteors  cross’d,  portentous  shone  i 
This  in  the  troubled  sky  full  oft  prevails. 

Oft  deem’d  a signal  of  tempestuous  gales. 

While  young  Arion  sleeps,  before  his  sight 
Tumultuous  swim  the  visions  of  the  night: 

Now,  blooming  Anna  with  her  happy  swain 
Approach’d  the  sacred  hymeneal  fane ; 

Anon,  tremendous  lightnings  flash  between, 


40 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[684 


And  funeral  pomp,  and  weeping  loves  are  seen : 
Now  with  Palemon,  up  a rocky  steep, 

Whose  summit  trembles  o’er  the  roaring  deep, 

With  painful  step  he  climb’d;  while  far  above 
Sweet  Anna  charm’d  them  with  the  voice  of  love : 
Then  sudden  from  the  slippery  height  they  fell. 
While  dreadful  yawn’d,  beneath,  the  jaws  of  hell.  — 
Amid  this  fearful  trance,  a thundering  sound 
He  hears,  and  thrice  the  hollow  decks  rebound ; 
Upstarting  from  his  couch  on  deck  he  sprung ; 
Thrice  with  shrill  note  the  boatswain’s  whistle 
rung : 

All  hands  unmoor ! proclaims  a boisterous  cry, 

All  hands  unmoor ! the  cavern’d  rocks  reply. 

Housed  f]*om  repose  aloft  the  sailors  swarm. 

And  with  their  levers  soon  the  windlass  arm : 

The  order  given,  up  springing  with  a bound. 

They  fix  the  bars,  and  heave  the  windlass  round; 
At  every  turn  the  clanging  pauls  resound ; 

Up-torn  reluctant  from  its  oozy  cave 
The  ponderous  anchor  rises  o’er  the  wave. 

High  on  the  slippery  masts  the  yards  ascend. 

And  far  abroad  the  canvas  wings  extend. 

Adong  the  glassy  plain  the  vessel  glides, 

While  azure  radiance  trembles  on  her  sides ; 

The  lunar  rays  in  long  reflection  gleam, 


709] 


CANTO  I. 


41 


With  silver  deluging  the  fluid  stream ; 

Levant  and  Thracian  gales  alternate  play, 

Then  in  the  Egyptian  quarter  die  away. 

A calm  ensues ; adjacent  shores  they  dread, 

The  boats,  with  rowers  manned,  are  sent  ahead; 
With  cordage  fasten’d  to  the  lofty  prow 
Aloof  to  sea  the  stately  ship  they  tow ; 

The  nervous  crew  their  sweeping  oars  extend, 

And  pealing  shouts  the  shore  of  Candia  rend : 
Success  attends  their  skill,  the  danger’s  o’er! 

The  port  is  doubled,  and  beheld  no  more. 

Now  morn  with  gradual  pace  advanced  on  high, 
Whitening  with  orient  beam  the  twilight  sky : 

She  comes  not  in  refulgent  pomp  array’d. 

But  frowning  stern,  and  wrapt  in  sullen  shade. 
Above  incumbent  mists,  tall  Ida’s  height. 
Tremendous  rock ! emerges  on  the  sight ; 
North-east,  a league,  the  Isle  of  Standia  bears. 
And  westward,  Freschin’s  woody  Cape  appears. 

In  distant  angles  while  the  transient  gales 
Alternate  blow,  they  trim  the  flagging  sails ; 

The  drowsy  air  attentive  to  retain, 

As  from  unnumber’d  points  it  sweeps  the  main. 
Now  swelling  stud-sails  on  each  side  extend. 

Then  stay-sails  sidelong  to  the  breeze  ascend ; 
While  all,  to  court  the  veering  winds,  are  placed 


4:2 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[7Sb 


With  yards  alternate  square,  and  sharply  braced. 

The  dim  horizon  lowering  vapours  shroud, 

And  blot  the  sun  yet  struggling  in  the  cloud ; 
TJirough  the  wide  atmosphere,  condensed  with  haze, 
His  glaring  orb  emits  a sanguine  blaze. 

The  pilots  now  their  azimuth  attend. 

On  which  all  courses,  duly  form’d,  depend : 

The  compass  placed  to  catch  the  rising  ray, 

The  quadrant’s  shadows  studious  they  survey ; 
Along  the  arch  the  gradual  index  slides. 

While  Phoebus  down  the  vertic-circle  glides ; 

Now  seen  on  ocean’s  utmost  verge  to  swim, 

He  sweeps  it  vibrant  with  his  nether  limb. 

Thus  height  and  polar  distance  are  obtain’d. 

Then  latitude  and  declination  gain’d ; 

Li  chiliads  next  the  analogy  is  sought. 

And  on  the  sinical  triangle  wrought : 

By  this  magnetic  variance  is  explored. 

Just  angles  known,  and  polar  truth  restored. 

The  natives,  while  the  ship  departs  their  land, 
Ashore  with  admiration  gazing  stand. 

Majestically  slow  before  the  breeze 

She  moved  triumphant  o’er  the  yielding  seas ; 

Her  bottom  through  translucent  waters  shone, 
White  as  the  clouds  beneath  the  blaze  of  noon ; 

The  bending  wales  their  contrast  next  display’d, 


76lJ 


CANTO  I. 


43 


All  fore  and  aft  in  polish’d  jet  array’d. 

Britannia,  riding  awful  on  the  prow, 

Gazed  o’er  the  vassal  waves  that  roll’d  belo\^ : 
Where’er  she  moved  the  vassal  waves  were  seen 
To  yield  obsequious,  and  confess  their  queen. 

The  imperial  trident  graced  her  dexter  hand. 

Of  power  to  rule  the  surge  like  Moses’  wand ; 

The  eternal  empire  of  the  main  to  keep. 

And  guide  her  squadrons  o’er  the  trembling  deep. 
Her  left,  propitious,  bore  a mystic  shield. 

Around  whose  margin  rolls  the  watery  field ; 

There  her  bold  genius  in  his  floating  car 
O’er  the  wild  billow  hurls  the  storm  of  war : 

And  lo  ! the  beasts  that  oft  with  jealous  I'age 
In  bloody  combat  met,  from  age  to  age. 

Tamed  into  union,  yoked  in  friendship’s  chain. 
Draw  his  proud  chariot  round  the  vanquish’d  main. 
From  the  proud  margin  to  the  centre  grew 
Shelves,  rocks,  and  whirlpools,  hideous  to  the  view. 
The  immortal  shield  from  Neptune  she  received, 
Wlien  first  her  head  above  the  waters  heaved. 
Loose  floated  o’er  her  limbs  an  azure  vest, 

A figured  scutcheon  glitter’d  on  her  breast ; 

There  from  one  parent  soil,  for  ever  young. 

The  blooming  rose  and  hardy  thistle  sprung. 
Around  her  head  an  oaken  wreath  was  seen, 


44 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[787 


Inwove  with  laurels  of  unfading  green. 

Such  was  the  sculptured  prow ; from  van  to  rear 
The  artillery  frown’d,  a black  tremendous  tier ! 
Embalm’d  with  orient  gum,  above  the  wave 
The  swelling  sides  a yellow  radiance  gave. 

On  the  broad  stern,  a pencil  warm  and  bold, 

That  never  servile  rules  of  art  controll’d, 

An  allegoric  tale  on  high  portray’d  — 

There  a young  hero,  here  a royal  maid : 

Fair  England’s  genius  in  the  youth  exprest, 

Her  ancient  foe,  but  now  her  friend  confest, 

The  warlike  nymph  with  fond  regard  survey’d ; 

No  more  his  hostile  frown  her  heart  dismay’d. 

His  look,  that  once  shot  terror  from  afar, 

Like  young  Alcides,  or  the  god  of  war, 

Serene  as  summer’s  evening  skies  she  saw ; 

Serene,  yet  firm  ; though  mild,  impressing  awe. 

Her  nervous  arm,  inured  to  toils  severe. 

Brandish’d  the  unconquer’d  Caledonian  spear : 

The  dreadful  falchion  of  the  hills  she  wore. 

Sung  to  the  harp  in  many  a tale  of  yore. 

That  oft  her  rivers  dyed  with  hostile  gore. 

Blue  was  her  rocky  shield ; her  piercing  eye 
Flash’d  like  the  meteors  of  her  native  sky ; 

Her  crest,  Ingh-plumed,  was  rough  with  many  a scar. 
And  o’er  her  helmet  gleam’d  the  northern  star. 


813] 


CANTO  I. 


45 


The  warrior  youth  appear’d  of  noble  frame, 

The  hardy  offspring  of  some  Runic  dame : 

Loose’  o’er  his  shoulders  hung  the  slacken’d  bow, 
Renown’d  in  song,  the  terror  of  the  foe. 

The  sword  that  oft  the  barbarous  north  defied. 
The  scourge  of  tyrants  ! glitter’d  by  his  side : 

Clad  in  refulgent  arms  in  battle  won, 

The  George  emblazon’d  on  his  corselet  shone ; 
Fast  by  his  side  was  seen  a golden  lyre, 

Pregnant  with  numbers  of  eternal  fire ; 

Whose  strings  unlock  the  witches’  midnight  spell, 
Or  waft  rapt  fancy  through  the  gulfs  of  hell : 
Struck  with  contagion,  kindling  fancy  hears 
The  songs  of  heaven,  the  music  of  the  spheres ! 
Borne  on  Newtonian  wing  through  air  she  fiies, 
Where  other  suns  to  other  systems  rise. 

These  front  the  scene  conspicuous ; overhead 
Albion’s  proud  oak  his  filial  branches  spread : 
While  on  the  sea-beat  shore  obsequious  stood, 
Beneath  their  feet,  the  father  of  the  fiood : 

Here,  the  bold  native  of  her  cliffs  above, 

Perch’d  by  the  martial  maid  the  bird  of  Jove; 
There,  on  the  watch,  sagacious  of  his  prey, 

With  eyes  of  fire,  an  English  mastiff  lay : 

Yonder,  fair  commerce  stretch’d  her  winged  sail, 
Here,  frown’d  the  god  that  wakes  the  living  gale. 


46 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


1839 


High  o’er  the  poop,  the  flattering  winds  unfurl’d 
The  imperial  flag  that  rules  the  watery  world. 

Deep  blushing  armors  all  the  tops  invest, 

And  warlike  trophies  either  quarter  drest : 

Then  tower’d  the  masts,  the  canvas  swell’d  on  high. 
And  waving  streamers  floated  in  the  sky. 

Thus  the  rich  vessel  moves  in  trim  array, 

Like  some  fair  virgin  on  her  bridal  day ; 

Thus,  like  a swan,  she  cleaved  the  watery  plain. 
The  pride  and  wonder  of  the  JEgean  main. 


SECOND  CANTO 


THE  SCENE  LIES  AT  SEA,  BETWEEN  CAPE  FRESCHIN, 
IN  CANDIA,  AND  THE  ISLAND  OF 
PALCONERA,  WHICH  IS  NEARLY  TWELVE  LEAGUES 
NORTHWARD  OF  CAPE  SPADO. 

TIME,  FROM  NINE  IN  THE  MORNING  UNTIL  ONE  O’ClOCE 
OF  THE  NEXT  DAY  AT  NOON. 


AKGUMENT. 


I.  Reflections  on  leaving  shore.  II.  Favourable  breeze. 
Waterspout.  The  dying  dolphin.  Breeze  freshens. 
Ship’s  rapid  progress  along  the  coast.  Top-sails  reefed. 
Gale  of  wind.  Last  appearance,  bearing,  and  distance 
of  Cape  Spado.  A squall.  Top-sails  double  reefed. 
Main-sail  split.  The  ship  bears  up  ; again  hauls  upon 
the  wind.  Another  main-sail  bent  and  set.  Porpoises. 
III.  The  ship  driven  out  of  her  course  from  Candia. 
Heavy  gale.  Top-sails  furled.  Top-gallant-yards  low- 
ered. Heavy  sea  Threatening  sun-set.  Difference  of 
opinion  respecting  the  mode  of  taking  in  the  main-sail. 
Courses  reefed.  Four  seamen  lost  off  the  lee  main-yard 
arm.  Anxiety  of  the  master  and  his  mates  on  being 
near  a lee-shore.  Mizzen  reefed.  IV.  A tremendous  sea 
bursts  over  the  deck  ; its  consequences.  The  ship  labours 
in  great  distress.  Guns  thrown  overboard.  Dismal  ap- 
pearance of  the  weather.  Very  high  and  dangerous  sea. 
Storm  of  lightning.  Severe  fatigue  of  the  crew  at  the 
pumps.  Critical  situation  of  the  ship  near  the  Island 
Falconera.  Consultation  and  resolution  of  the  officers. 
Speech  and  advice  of  Albert  ; his  devout  address  to 
Heaven.  Order  given  to  scud.  The  fore  stay-sail  hoisted 
and  split.  The  head  yards  braced  aback.  The  mizzen 
mast  cut  away. 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


CANTO  n. 

I.  Adieu  ! ye  pleasures  of  the  sylvan  scene, 
Where  peace  and  calm  contentment  dwell  serene 
To  me,  in  vain,  on  earth’s  prolific  soil, 

AYith  summer  crown’d,  the  Elysian  valleys  smile ; 
To  me  those  happier  scenes  no  joy  impart, 

But  tantalize  with  hope  my  aching  heart : 

Ye  tempests ! o’er  my  head  congenial  roll 
To  suit  the  mourniul  music  of  my  soul ; 

In  black  progression,  lo,  they  hover  near. 

Hail  social  horrors ! like  my  fate  severe : 

Old  ocean  hail ! beneath  whose  azure  zone 
The  secret  deep  lies  unexplored,  unknown. 
Approach,  ye  brave  companions  of  the  sea. 

And  fearle^  view  this  awful  scene  with  me. 

Ye  native  guardians  of  your  country’s  laws ! 

Ye  brave  assertors  of  her  sacred  cause ! 

The  muse  invites  you,  judge  if  she  depart, 
Unequal,  from  the  thorny  rules  of  art ; 

4 


50 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[19 


In  practice  train’d,  and  conscious  of  hei  power, 

She  boldly  moves  to  meet  the  trying  hour : 

Her  voice  attempting  themes  before  unknown 
To  music,  sings  distresses  all  her  own. 

II.  O’er  the  smooth  bosom  of  the  faithless  tides, 
Propell’d  by  flattering  gales,  the  vessel  glides : 
Eodmond  exulting  felt  the  auspicious  wind. 

And  by  a mystic  charm  its  aim  confined. 

The  thoughts  of  home  that  o’er  his  fancy  roU, 

With  trembling  joy  dilate  Palemon’s  soul ; 

Hope  lifts  his  heart,  before  whose  vivid  ray 
Distress  recedes,  and  danger  melts  away. 

Tall  Ida’s  summit  now  more  distant  grew. 

And  Jove’s  high  hill  was  rising  to  the  view, 

When  on  the  larboard  quarter  they  descry 
A liquid  column  towering  shoot  on  high : 

The  foaming  base  the  angry  whirlwinds  sweep, 
Wliere  curling  billows  rouse  the  fearful  deep ; 

Still  round,  and  round,  the  fluid  vortex  flies. 
Diffusing  briny  vapours  o’er  the  skies. 

This  vast  phenomenon,  whose  lofty  head. 

In  heaven  immersed,  embracing  clouds  o’erspread, 
In  spiral  motion  first,  as  seamen  deem. 

Swells,  when  the  raging  whirlwind  sweeps  the 
stream. 

The  swift  volution,  and  the  enormous  train, 


HI 


CANTO  II. 


51 


Let  sages  versed  in  nature’s  lore  explain. 

The  horrid  apparition  still  draws  nigh, 

And  white  with  foam  the  whirling  billows  fly. 

The  guns  were  primed  ; the  vessel  northward  veers, 
Till  her  black  battery  on  the  column  bears : 

The  nitre  fired ; and,  while  the  dreadful  sound 
Convulsive  shook  the  slumbering  air  around, 

The  watery  volume,  trembling  to  the  sky. 

Burst  down,  a dreadful  deluge,  from  on  high ! 

The  expanding  ocean  trembled  as  it  fell. 

And  felt  with  swift  recoil  her  surges  swell ; 

But  soon,  this  transient  undulation  o’er. 

The  sea  subsides,  the  whirlwinds  rage  no  more. 
While  southward  now  the  increasing  breezes  veer, 
Dark  clouds  incumbent  on  their  wings  appear : 
Ahead  they  see  the  consecrated  grove 
Of  Cyprus,  sacred  once  to  Cretan  Jove. 

The  ship  beneath  her  lofty  pressure  reels. 

And  to  the  freshening  gale  still  deeper  heels. 

But  now,  beneath  the  lofty  vessel’s  stern, 

A shoal  of  sportive  dolphins  they  discern, 

Beaming  from  burnish’d  scales  refulgent  rays 
Till  all  the  glowing  ocean  seems  to  blaze. 

In  curling  wreaths  they  wanton  on  the  tide. 

Now  bound  aloft,  now  downward  swiftly  glide ; 
4Lwhile  beneath  the  waves  their  tracks  remain. 


52 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[70 


And  burn  in  silver  streams  along  the  liquid  plain. 
Soon  to  the  sport  of  death  the  crew  repair, 

Dart  the  long  lance,  or  spread  the  baited  snare. 
One  in  redoubling  mazes  wheels  along. 

And  glides, unhappy, near  the  triple  prong: 
Rodmond,  unerring,  o’er  his  head  suspends 
The  barbed  steel,  and  every  turn  attends ; 
Unerring  aim’d,  the  missile  weapon  flew. 

And,  plunging,  struck  the  fated  victim  through. 
The  upturning  points  his  ponderous  bulk  sustain, 
On  deck  he  struggles  with  convulsive  pain  : 

But  while  his  heart  the  fatal  javelin  tlirills. 

And  flitting  life  escapes  in  sanguine  rills. 

What  radiant  changes  strike  the  astonish’d  sight ! 
What  glowing  hues  of  mingled  shade  and  light ! 
Not  equal  beauties  gild  the  lucid  west 
With  parting  beams  all  o’er  profusely  drest ; 

Not  lovelier  colours  paint  the  vernal  dawn. 

When  orient  dews  impearl  the  enamell’d  lawn. 
Than  from  his  sides  in  bright  suffusion  flow ; 

That  now  with  gold  empyreal  seem  to  glow. 

Now  in  pellucid  sapphires  meet  the  view. 

And  emulate  the  soft  celestial  hue ; 

Now  beam  a flaming  crimson  on  the  eye. 

And  now  assume  the  purple’s  deeper  dye. 

B it  here  description  clouds  each  shining  ray : 


96] 


CANTO  II. 


53 


What  terms  of  art  can  nature’s  powers  display ! 

The  lighter  sails,  for  summer  winds  and  seas, 

Are  now  dismiss’d,  the  straining  masts  to  ease ; 
Swift  on  the  deck  the  stud-sails  all  descend. 

Which  ready  seamen  from  the  yards  unbend : 

The  boats  then,  hoisted  in,  are  fix’d  on  board. 

And  on  the  deck  with  fastening  gripes  secured. 

The  watchful  ruler  of  the  helm  no  more 
With  fix’d  attention  eyes  the  adjacent  shore. 

But  by  the  oracle  of  truth  below. 

The  wondrous  magnet,  guides  the  wayward  prow. 
The  powerful  sails,  with  steady  breezes  swell’d. 
Swift  and  more  swift  the  yielding  bark  impell’d : 
Across  her  stem  the  parting  waters  run. 

As  clouds,  by  tempests  wafted,  pass  the  sun. 
Impatient  thus  she  darts  along  tlie  shore. 

Till  Ida’s  mount,  and  Jove’s,  are  seen  no  more ; 
And,  while  aloof  from  Retiino  she  steers, 

Maleca’s  foreland  full  in  front  appears. 

Wide. o’er  yon  isthmus  stands  the  cypress  grove, 
That  once  inclosed  the  hallow’d  fane  of  Jove ; 

Here  too,  memorial  of  his  name,  is  found 
A tomb  in  marble  ruins  on  the  ground. 

This  gloomy  tyrant,  wliose  despotic  sway 
Compell’d  the  trembling  nations  to  obey, 

Through  Greece  for  murder,  rape,  and  incctl  know  n. 


54 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[122 


The  Muses  raised  to  high  Olympus’  throne ; 

For  oft,  alas ! their  venal  strains  adorn 
The  prince  whom  blushing  virtue  holds  in  scorn : 
Still  Rome  and  Greece  record  his  endless  fame, 
And  hence  yon  mountain  yet  retains  his  name. 

But  see ! in  confluence  borne  before  the  blast, 
Clouds  roll’d  on  clouds  the  dusky  noon  o’ercast; 
The  blackening  ocean  curls,  the  winds  arise, 

And  the  dark  scud  in  swift  succession  flies. 

While  the  swoln  canvas  bends  the  masts  on  high. 
Low  in  the  wave  the  leeward  cannon  lie. 

The  master  calls,  to  give  the  ship  relief. 

The  top-sails  lower,  and  form  a single  reef! 

Each  lofty  yard  with  slacken’d  cordage  reels ; 
Rattle  the  creaking  blocks  and  ringing  wheels. 
Down  the  tall  masts  the  top-sails  sink  amain. 

Are  mann’d  and  reefd,  then  hoisted  up  again. 
More  distant  grew  receding  Candia’s  shore. 

And  southward  of  the  west  Cape  Spado  bore. 

Four  hours  the  sun  his  high  meridian  throne 
Had  left,  and  o’er  Atlantic  regions  shone. 

Still  blacker  clouds,  that  all  the  skies  invade, 
Draw  o’er  his  sullied  orb  a dismal  shade : 

A lowering  squall  obscures  the  southern  sky. 
Before  whose  sweeping  breath  the  waters  fly. 

Its  weight  the  top-sails  can  no  more  sustain  — 


14S] 


CANTO  II. 


56 


Reef  top-sails,  reef!  the  master  calls  again. 

The  halyards  and  top-bovv-lines  soon  are  gone, 

To  clue-lines  and  reef-tackles  next  they  run : 

The  shivering  sails  descend ; the  yards  are  square ; 
Then  quick  aloft  the  ready  crew  repair : 

The  weather-earings  and  the  lee  they  past, 

The  reefs  enroll’d,  and  every  point  made  fast. 
Their  task  above  thus  finished,  they  descend. 

And  vigilant  the  approaching  squall  attend. 

It  comes  resistless ! and  with  foaming  sweep 
Upturns  the  whitening  surface  of  the  deep : 

In  such  a tempest,  borne  to  deeds  of  death. 

The  wayward  sisters  scour  the  blasted  heath. 

The  clouds,  with  ruin  pregnant,  now  impend, 

And  storm  and  cataracts  tumultuous  blend. 

Deep  on  her  side  the  reeling  vessel  lies : 

Brail  up  the  mizzen  quick ! the  master  cries, 

Man  the  clue-garnets  1 let  the  main-sheet  fly  I 
It  rends  in  thousand  shivering  shreds  on  high ! 

The  main-sail  all  in  streaming  ruins  tore. 

Loud  fluttering,  imitates  the  thunder’s  roar : 

The  ship  still  labours  in  the  oppressive  strain. 

Low  bending,  as  if  ne’er  to  rise  again. 

Bear  up  the  helm  a-weather ! Rodmond  cries  : 
Swift  at  the  word  the  helm  a-weather  flies ; 

She  feels  its  guiding  power,  and  veers  apace, 


56 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[174 


And  now  the  fore-sail  right  athwart  they  brace : 
With  equal  sheets  restrain’d,  the  bellying  sail 
Spreads  a broad  concave  to  the  sweeping  gale. 
While  o’er  the  foam  the  ship  impetuous  flies, 

The  helm  the  attentive  timoneer  applies : 

As  in  pursuit  along  the  aerial  way 
With  ardent  eye  the  falcon  marks  his  prey, 

Each  motion  watches  of  the  doubtful  chase. 
Obliquely  wheeling  through  the  fluid  space ; 

So,  govern’d  by  the  steersman’s  glowing  hands. 
The  regent  helm  her  motion  still  commands. 

But  now  the  transient  squall  to  leeward  past. 
Again  she  rallies  to  the  sullen  blast : 

The  helm  to  starboard  moves ; each  shivering  sail 
Is  sharply  trimm’d  to  clasp  the  augmenting  gale ; 
The  mizzen  draws ; she  springs  aloof  once  more. 
While  the  fore  stay-sail  balances  before. 

The  fore-sail  braced  obliquely  to  the  wind. 

They  near  the  prow  the  extended  tack  confined ; 
Then  on  the  leeward  sheet  the  seamen  bend. 

And  haul  the  bow-line  to  the  bowsprit-end : 

To  top-sails  next  they  haste ; the  bunt-lines  gone. 
Through  rattling  blocks  the  clue-lines  swiftly  run ; 
The  extending  sheets  on  either  side  are  mann’d. 
Abroad  they  come ! the  fluttering  sails  expand ; 
The  yards  again  ascend  each  comrade  mast. 


200] 


CANTO  II. 


57 


The  leeches  taught,  the  halyards  are  made  fast, 

The  bow-lines  haul’d,  and  yards  to  starboard  braced, 
And  straggling  ropes  in  pendant  order  placed. 

The  main-sail,  by  the  squall  so  lately  rent, 

In  streaming  pendants  flying,  is  unbent : 

With  brails  refix’d,  another  soon  prepared. 
Ascending,  spreads  along  beneath  the  yard. 

To  each  yard-arm  the  head-rope  they  extend, 

And  soon  their  earings  and  their  robans  bend. 

That  task  perform’d,  they  first  the  braces  slack. 
Then  to  the  chesstree  drag  the  unwilling  tack. 

And,  while  the  lee  clue-garnet’s  lower’d  away. 
Taught  aft  the  sheet  they  tally,  and  belay. 

Now  to  the  north,  from  Afric’s  burning  shore, 

A troop  of  porpoises  their  course  explore ; 

In  curling  wreaths  they  gambol  on  the  tide. 

Now  bound  aloft,  now  down  the  billow  glide : 

Their  tracks  awhile  the  hoary  waves  retain. 

That  burn  in  sparkling  trails  along  the  main. 

These  fleetest  coursers  of  the  finny  race, 

When  threatening  clouds  the  ethereal  vault  deface, 
Their  route  to  leeward  still  sagacious  form. 

To  shun  the  fury  of  the  approaching  storm. 

III.  Fair  Candia  now  no  more  beneath  her  lee 
Protects  the  vessel  from  the  insulting  sea ; 

Round  her  broad  arms  impatient  of  control. 


58 


THE  SHIPWatECK. 


[226 


Roused  from  the  secret  deep,  the  billows  roll : 

Sunk  were  the  bulwarks  of  the  friendly  shore, 

And  all  the  scene  an  hostile  aspect  wore. 

The  flattering  wind,  that  late  with  promis’d  aid 
From  Candia’s  bay  the  unwilling  ship  betray’d, 

No  longer  fawns  beneath  the  fair  disguise, 

But  like  a ruffian  on  his  quarry  flies. 

Tost  on  the  tide  she  feels  the  tempest  blow, 

And  dreads  the  vengeance  of  so  fell  a foe : 

As  the  proud  horse  with  costly  trappings  gay. 
Exulting,  prances  to  the  bloody  fray ; 

Spurning  the  ground  he  glories  in  his  might. 

But  reels  tumultuous  in  the  shock  of  fight ; 

E’en  so,  caparison’d  in  gaudy  pride. 

The  bounding  vessel  dances  on  the  tide. 

Fierce  and  more  fierce  the  gathering  tempes* 
grew ; 

South,  and  by  west,  the  threatening  demon  blew ; 
Auster’s  resistless  force  all  air  invades, 

And  every  rolling  wave  more  ample  spreads. 

The  ship  no  longer  can  her  top-sails  bear ; 

No  hopes  of  milder  weather  now  appear. 

Bow-lines  and  halyards  are  cast  off  again. 

Clue-lines  haul’d  down,  and  sheets  let  fly  amain : 
Embrail’d  each  top-sail,  and  by  braces  squared, 

The  seamen  climb  aloft,  and  man  each  yard. 


251] 


CANTO  II. 


69 


They  furl’d  the  sails,  and  pointed  to  the  wind 
The  yards,  by  rolling  tackles  then  confined, 

While  o’er  the  ship  the  gallant  boatswain  flies ; 

Like  a hoarse  mastiff  through  the  storm  he  cries, 
Prompt  to  direct  the  unskilful  still  appears, 

The  expert  he  praises,  and  the  timid  cheers. 

Now  some,  to  strike  top-gallant-yards  attend, 

Some,  travellers  up  the  weather-back-stays  send. 

At  each  mast-head  the  top-ropes  others  bend : 

The  parrels,  lifts,  and  clue-lines  soon  are  gone. 
Topp’d  and  unrigg’d,  they  down  the  back-stays  run ; 
The  yards  secure  along  the  booms  were  laid, 

And  all  the  flying  ropes  aloft  belay’d. 

Their  sails  reduced,  and  all  the  rigging  clear, 

A’vvhile  the  crew  relax  from  toils  severe ; 

Awhile  their  spirits  with  fatigue  opprest, 

In  vain  expect  the  alternate  hour  of  rest. 

But  with  redoubling  force  the  tempests  blow. 

And  watery  hills  in  dread  succession  flow : 

A dismal  shade  o’ercasts  the  frowning  skies ; 

NeAv  troubles  grow,  fresh  difficulties  rise  ; 

No  season  this  from  duty  to  descend ; 

All  hands  on  deck  must  now  the  storm  attend. 

His  race  perform’d,  the  sacred  lamp  of  day 
Now  dipt  in  western  clouds  his  parting  ray : 

His  languid  fires,  half  lost  in  ambient  haze. 


GO 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[277 


Refract  along  the  dush  a crimson  blaze  ; 

Till  deep  immerged  the  sickening  orb  descends, 
And  cheerless  night  o’er  heaven  her  reign  extends: 
Sad  evening’s  hour,  how  different  from  the  past ! 
No  flaming  pomp,  no  blushing  glories  cast, 

No  ray  of  friendly  light  is  seen  around ; 

The  moon  and  stars  in  hopeless  shade  are  drown’d. 

The  ship  no  longer  can  whole  courses  bear, 

To  reef  them  now  becomes  the  master’s  care ; 

The  sailors,  summon’d  aft,  all  ready  stand, 

And  man  the  enfolding  brails  at  his  command. 

But  here  the  doubtful  officers  dispute, 

Till  skill,  and  judgment,  prejudice  confute : 

For  Rodmond,  to  new  methods  still  a foe. 

Would  first,  at  all  events,  the  sheet  let  go ; 

To  long-tried  practice  obstinately  warm. 

He  doubts  conviction,  and  relies  on  form. 

This  Albert  and  Arion  disapprove. 

And  first  to  brail  the  tack  up  firmly  move : 

“ The  watchful  seaman,  whose  sagacious  eye  " 
On  sure  experience  may  with  truth  rely. 

Who  from  the  reigning  cause  foretells  the  effect, 
This  barbarous  practice  ever  will  reject ; 

For,  fluttering  loose  in  air,  the  rigid  sail 
Soon  flits  to  ruins  in  the  furious  gale ; 

And  he  who  strives  the  tempest  to  disarm, 


m] 


CANTO  II. 


61 


Will  never  first  embrail  the  lee  yard-arm.” 

So  Albert  spoke ; to  v indward,  at  his  call, 

Some  seamen  the  clue-garnet  stand  to  haul ; 

The  tack ’s  eased  off,  while  the  involving  clue 
Between  the  pendent  blocks  ascending  flew. 

The  sheet  and  weather-brace  they  now  stand  by. 
The  lee  clue-garnet  and  the  bunt-lines  ply : 
Then,  all  prepared.  Let  go  the  sheet ! he  cries  — 
Loud  rattling,  jarring,  through  the  blocks  it  flies ! 
Shivering  at  first,  till  by  the  blast  impelled, 

High  o’er  the  lee  yard-arm  the  canvas  swell’d ; 
By  spilling  lines  embraced,  with  brails  confined, 
It  lies  at  length  unshaken  by  the  wind. 

The  fore-sail  then  secured  with  equal  care. 

Again  to  reef  the  main-sail  they  repair  ; 

While  some  above  the  yard  o’er-haul  the  tye. 
Below,  the  down-haul  tackle  others  ply ; 
dears,  lifts,  and  brails,  a seaman  each  attends. 
And  down  the  mast  its  mighty  yard  descends. 
When  lower’d  sufficient  they  securely  brace. 

And  fix  the  rolling  tackle  in  its  place ; 

The  reef-lines  and  their  earings  now  prepared. 
Mounting  on  pliant  shrouds  they  man  the  yard. 
Far  on  the  extremes  appear  two  able  hands. 

For  no  inferior  skill  this  task  demands : 

To  windward,  foremost,  young  Arion  strides. 


62 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[329 


The  lee  yard-arm  the  gallant  boatswain  rides. 
Each  caring  to  its  cringle  first  they  bend, 

The  reef-band  then  along  the  yard  extend ; 

The  circling  earings  round  the  extremes  entwined, 
By  outer  and  by  inner  turns  they  bind  ; 

The  reef-lines  next  from  hand  to  hand  received. 
Through  eyelet-holes  and  roban-legs  were  reeved ; 
The  folding  reefs  in  plaits  inroll’d  they  lay. 

Extend  the  worming  lines,  and  ends  belay. 

Hadst  thou,  Arion ! held  the  leeward  post 
While  on  the  yard  by  mountain  billows  tost. 
Perhaps  oblivion  o’er  our  tragic  tale 
Had  then  for  ever  drawn  her  dusky  veil ; 

But  ruling  Heaven  prolong’d  thy  vital  date, 
Severer  ills  to  suffer,  and  relate. 

For,  while  aloft  the  order  those  attend 
To  furl  the  main-sail,  or  on  deck  descend, 

A sea,  upsurging  with  stupendous  roll, 

.To  instant  ruin  seems  to  doom  the  whole : 

O friends,  secure  your  hold ! Arion  cries : 

It  comes  all  dreadful ! down  the  vessel  lies 
Half  buried  sideways  ; while,  beneath  it  tosh 
Four  seamen  off  the  lee  yard-arm  are  lost : 

Torn  with  resistless  fury  from  their  hold. 

In  vain  their  struggling  arms  the  yard  enfold  5 
In  vain  to  grapple  fiying  ropes  they  try. 


355] 


CANTO  II. 


63 


The  ropes,  alas  ! a solid  gripe  deny : 

Prone  on  the  midnight  surge  with  panting  breath 
They  cry  for  aid,  and  long  contend  with  death ; 

High  o’er  their  heads  the  rolling  billows  sweep, 

And  down  they  sink  in  everlasting  sleep. 

Bereft  of  power  to  help,  their  comrades  see 
The  wretched  victims  die  beneath  the  lee, 

With  fruitless  sorrow  their  lost  state  bemoan, 
Perhaps  a fatal  prelude  to  their  own  ! 

In  dark  suspense  on  deck  the  pilots  stand, 

Nor  can  determine  on  the  next  command : 

Though  still  they  knew  the  vessel’s  armed  side 
Impenetrable  to  the  clasping  tide  ; 

Though  still  the  waters  by  no  secret  wound 
A passage  to  her  deep  recesses  found ; 

Surrounding  evils  yet  they  ponder  o’er, 

A storm,  a dangerous  sea,  and  leeward  shore ! 
‘‘Should  they,  though  reef’d,  again  their  sails  ex- 
tend, 

Again  in  shivering  streamers  they  may  rend ; 

Or,  should  they  stand,  beneath  the  oppressive  strain, 
The  down-press’d  ship  may  never  rise  again ; 

Too  late  to  weather  now  Morea’s  land. 

And  drifting  fast  on  Athens’  rocky  strand.”  — 

Thus  they  lament  the  consequence  severe, 

Where  perils  unallay’d  by  hope  appear : 


64 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[380 


Long  pondering  in  their  minds  each  fear’d  event, 
At  last  to  furl  the  courses  they  consent ; 

That  done,  to  reef  the  mizzen  next  agree, 

And  try  beneath  it  sidelong  in  the  sea. 

Now  down  the  mast  the  yard  they  lower  away, 
Then  jears  and  topping-lift  secure  belay ; 

The  head,  with  doubling  canvas  fenced  around, 

In  balance  near  the  lofty  peak  they  bound ; 

The  reef  enwrapp’d,  the  inserting  knittles  tied. 

The  halyards  throt  and  peak  are  next  applied. 

The  order  given,  the  yard  aloft  they  sway’d. 

The  brails  relax’d,  the  extended  sheet  belay’d ; 

The  helm  its  post  forsook,  and,  lash’d  a-lee. 
Inclined  the  wayward  prow  to  front  the  sea. 

IV.  When  sacred  Orpheus,  on  the  Stygian  coast 
With  notes  divine  deplored  his  consort  lost ; 
Though  round  him  perils  grew  in  fell  array. 

And  fates  and  furies  stood  to  bar  his  way ; 

Not  more  adventurous  was  the  attempt,  to  move 
The  infernal  powers  with  strains  of  heavenly  love. 
Than  mine,  in  ornamental  verse  to  dress 
The  harshest  sounds  that  terms  of  art  express. 
Such  arduous  toil  sage  Dasdalus  endured 
In  mazes,  self-invented,  long  immured. 

Till  genius  her  superior  aid  bestow’d. 

To  guide  him  through  that  intricate  abode  : 


406] 


CANTO  IT. 


65 


Thus,  long  imprison’d  in  a rugged  way 
Where  Phoebus’  daughters  never  aim’d  to  stray, 
The  muse,  that  tuned  to  barbarous  sounds  her 
string, 

Now  spreads,  like  Daedalus,  a bolder  wing ; 

The  verse  begins  in  softer  strains  to  flow, 

Deplete  with  sad  variety  of  woe. 

As  yet,  amid  this  elemental  war, 

Where  desolation  in  his  gloomy  car 
Triumphant  rages  round  the  starless  void, 

And  fate  on  every  billow  seems  to  ride ; 

Nor  toil,  nor  hazard,  nor  distress  appear 
To  sink  the  seamen  with  unmanly  fear : 

Though  their  firm  hearts  no  pageant-honour  boast. 
They  scorn  the  wretch  that  trembles  at  his  post ; 
Who  from  the  face  of  danger  strives  to  turn. 
Indignant  from  the  social  hour  they  spurn. 

Though  now  full  oft  they  felt  the  raging  tide 
In  proud  rebellion  climb  the  vessel’s  side ; 

Though  every  rising  wave  more  dreadful  grows, 
And  in  succession  dire  the  deck  o’erflows ; 

No  future  ills  unknown  their  souls  appall. 

They  know  no  danger,  or  they  scorn  it  all. 
put  e’en  the  generous  spirits  of  the  brave, 

Subdued  by  toil,  a friendly  respite  crave ; 
lliey,  with  severe  fatigue  alone  opprest, 

5 


66 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[431 


Would  fain  indulge  an  interval  of  rest. 

Far  other  cares  the  master’s  mind  employ, 
Approaching  perils  all  his  hope«5  destroy : 

In  vain  he  spreads  the  graduated  chart, 

And  bounds  the  distance  by  the  rules  of  art ; 

Across  the  geometric  plane  expands 
The  compasses  to  circumjacent  lands ; 

Ungrateful  task ! for,  no  asylum  found, 

Death  yawns  on  every  leeward  shore  around.  — 
While  Albert  thus,  with  horrid  doubts  dismay’d. 

The  geometric  distances  survey’d, 

On  deck  the  watchful  Rodmond  cries  aloud. 

Secure  your  lives ! grasp  every  man  a shroud ! 
Roused  from  his  trance,  he  mounts  witli  eyes  aghast , 
When  o’er  the  ship,  in  undulation  vast, 

A giant  surge  do^vn  rushes  from  on  high. 

And  fore  and  aft  dissever’d  ruins  lie. 

As  when,  Britannia’s  empire  to  maintain. 

Great  Hawke  descends  in  thunder  on  the  main, 
Around  the  brazen  voice  of  battle  roars. 

And  fatal  lightnings  blast  the  hostile  shores ; 
Beneath  the  storm  their  shatter’d  navies  groan ; 

The  trembling  deep  recoils  from  zone  to  zone : 

Thus  the  torn  vessel  felt  the  enormous  stroke ; 

The  boats  beneath  the  thundering  deluge  broke ; 
Torn  from  their  planks  the  cracking  ring-bolts  dreWj 


457] 


CANTO  II. 


67 


And  gripes  and  lashings  all  asunder  flew ; 
Companion,  binnacle,  in  floating  wreck, 

With  compasses  and  glasses  strew’d  the  deck ; 

The  balanced  mizzen,  rending  to  the  head. 

In  fluttering  fragments  from  its  bolt-rope  fled ; 

The  sides  convulsive  shook  on  groaning  beams, 
And,  rent  with  labour,  yawn’d  their  pitchy  seams. 

They  sound  the  well,  and,  terrible  to  hear ! 

Five  feet  immersed  along  the  line  appear  : 

At  either  pump  they  ply  the  clanking  brake, 

And,  turn  by  turn,  the  ungrateful  office  take : 
Rodmond,  Arion,  and  Palemon  here 
At  this  sad  task  all  diligent  appear. 

As  some  strong  citadel  begirt  with  foes 
Tries  long  the  tide  of  ruin  to  oppose, 

Destruction  near  her  spreads  his  black  array. 

And  death  and  sorrow  mark  his  horrid  way ; 

Till,  in  some  destined  hour,  against  her  wall 
In  tenfold  rage  the  fatal  thunders  fall ; 

It  breaks ! it  bursts  before  the  cannonade ! 

And  following  hosts  the  shatter’d  domes  invade ; 
Her  inmates  long  repel  the  hostile  flood. 

And  shield  their  sacred  charge  in  streams  of  blood . 
So  the  brave  mariners  their  pumps  attend. 

And  help  incessant,  by  rotation,  lend ; 

But  all  in  vain ! for  now  the  sounding  cord. 


68 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


|483 


Updrawn,  an  undiminish’d  depth  explored. 

Nor  this  severe  distress  is  found  alone ; 

The  ribs  opprest  by  ponderous  cannon  groan ; 
Deep  rolling  from  the  watery  volume’s  height, 
The  tortured  sides  seem  bursting  with  their  weight : 
So  reels  Pelorus  with  convulsive  throes, 

When  in  his  veins  the  burning  earthquake  glows  ; 
Hoarse  through  his  entrails  roars  the  infernal  fla 
And  central  thunders  rend  his  groaning  frame. 
Accumulated  mischiefs  thus  arise. 

And  fate,  vindictive,  all  their  skill  defies : 

For  this,  one  remedy  is  only  known, — 

From  the  torn  ship  her  metal  must  be  thrown : 
Eventful  task  ! which  last  distress  requires. 

And  dread  of  instant  death  alone  inspires ; 

For,  while  intent  the  yawning  decks  to  ease, 

Fill’d  ever  and  anon  with  rushing  seas. 

Some  fatal  billow  with  recoiling  sweep 
May  whirl  the  helpless  wretches  in  the  deep. 

No  season  this  for  counsel  or  delay ; 

Too  soon  the  eventful  moments  haste  away. 

Here  perseverance,  with  each  help  of  art. 

Must  join  the  boldest  efforts  of  the  heart ; 

These  only  now  their  misery  can  relieve. 

These  only  now  a dawn  of  safety  give. 

While  o’er  the  quivering  deck  from  van  to  rear 


609J 


CANTO  II. 


69 


Broad  surges  roll  in  terrible  career, 

Rodmond,  Arion,  and  a chosen  crew, 

This  office  in  the  face  of  death  pursue. 

The  wheel’d  artillery  o’er  the  deck  to  guide, 
Rodmond  descending  claim’d  the  weather-side ; 
Fearless  of  heart  the  chief  his  orders  gave. 

Fronting  the  rude  assaults  of  every  wave  : 

Like  some  strong  watch-tower  nodding  o’er  the 
deep. 

Whose  rocky  base  the  foaming  waters  sweep. 
Untamed  he  stood ; the  stern  aerial  war 
Had  mark’d  his  honest  face  with  many  a scar. 
Meanwhile  Arion,  traversing  the  waist. 

The  cordage  of  the  leeward-guns  unbraced. 

And  pointed  crows  beneath  the  metal  placed: 
Watching  the  roll,  their  forelocks  they  withdrew, 
And  from  their  beds  the  reeling  cannon  threw. 
Then,  from  the  windward  battlements  unbound, 
Rodmond’s  associates  wheel’d  the  artillery  round  ? 
Pointed  with  iron  fangs,  their  bars  beguile 
The  ponderous  arms  across  the  steep  defile ; 

Then,  hurl’d  from  sounding  hinges  o’er  the  side, 
Thundering  they  plunge  into  the  flashing  tide. 

The  ship,  thus  eased,  some  little  respite  finds 
In  this  rude  conflict  of  the  seas  and  winds : 

Such  ease  Alcides  felt,  when,  clogg’d  with  gore. 


70 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[534 


The  envenom’d  mantle  from  his  side  he  tore ; 
When,  stung  with  burning  pain,  he  strove  too  late 
To  stop  the  swift  career  of  cruel  fate ; 

Yet  then  his  heart  one  ray  of  hope  procured. 

Sad  harbinger  of  sevenfold  pangs  endured. 

Such,  and  so  short,  the  pause  of  woe  she  found ! 
Cimmerian  darkness  shades  the  deep  around, 
Save  when  the  lightnings  in  terrific  blaze 
Deluge  the  cheerless  gloom  with  horrid  rays : 
Above,  all  ether  fraught  with  scenes  of  woe 
With  grim  destruction  threatens  all  below ; 
Beneath,  the  storm-lash’d  surges  furious  rise, 

And  wave  uproU’d  on  wave  assails  the  skies ; 
With  ever-floating  bulwarks  they  surround 
The  ship,  half  swallow’d  in  the  black  profound. 

With  ceaseless  hazard  and  fatigue  opprest, 
Dismay  and  anguish  every  heart  possest ; 

For  while,  with  sweeping  inundation,  o’er 
The  sea-beat  ship  the  booming  waters  roar, 
Displaced  beneath  by  her  capacious  womb, 

They  rage  their  ancient  station  to  resume. 

By  secret  ambushes,  their  force  to  prove. 

Through  many  a winding  channel  first  they  rove ; 
Till  gathering  fury,  like  the  fever’d  blood. 
Through  her  dark  veins  they  roll  a rapid  flood. 
When  unrelenting  thus  the  leaks  they  found, 


560] 


CANTO  II. 


71 


The  clattering  pumps  with  clanking  strokes  resound ; 
Around  each  leaping  valve,  by  toil  subdued, 

The  tough  bull-hide  must  ever  be  renew’d : 

Their  sinking  hearts  unusual  horrors  chill. 

And  down  their  weary  limbs  thick  dews  distill ; 

No  ray  of  light  their  dying  hope  redeems, 

Pregnant  with  some  new  woe,  each  moment  teems. 

Again  the  chief  the  instructive  chart  extends, 

And  o’er  the  figured  plane  attentive  bends. 

To  him  the  motion  of  each  orb  was  known, 

'That  wheels  around  the  sun’s  refulgent  throne ; 

But  here,  alas ! his  science  nought  avails. 

Skill  droops  unequal,  and  experience  fails. 

The  different  traverses,  since  twilight  made, 

He  on  the  hydrographic  circle  laid ; 

Then,  in  the  graduated  arch  contain’d. 

The  angle  of  lee-way,  seven  points,  remain’d.  — 

Her  place  discover’d  by  the  rules  of  art, 

Unusual  terrors  shook  the  master’s  heart. 

When,  on  the  immediate  line  of  drift,  he  found 
The  rugged  isle,  with  rocks  and  breakers  bound, 

Of  Faleonera ; distant  only  now 

Nine  lessening  leagues  beneath  the  leeward  bow  • 

For,  if  on  those  destructive  shallows  tost. 

The  helpless  bark  with  all  her  crew  are  lost ; 

As  fatal  still  appears,  that  danger  o’er, 


72 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[586 


The  steep  St.  George,  and  rockj  Gardalor. 

With  him  the  pilots,  of  their  hopeless  state, 

In  mournful  consultation,  long  debate : 

Not  more  perplexing  doubts  her  chiefs  appall 
When  some  proud  city  verges  to  her  fall. 

While  ruin  glares  around,  and  pale  affright 
Convenes  her  councils  in  the  dead  of  night. 

No  blazon’d  trophies  o’er  their  concave  spread, 

Nor  storied  pillars  raised  aloft  their  head : 

But  here  the  queen  of  shade  around  them  threw 
Her  dragon  wing,  disastrous  to  the  view ! 

Dire  was  the  scene  with  whirlwind,  hail,  and  shower; 
Black  melancholy  ruled  the  fearful  hour : 

Beneath,  tremendous  roll’d  the  flashing  tide. 

Where  fate  on  every  billow  seem’d  to  ride. 

Enclosed  with  ills,  by  peril  unsubdued. 

Great  in  distress  the  master-seaman  stood : 

Skill’d  to  command,  deliberate  to  advise. 

Expert  in  action,  and  in  council  wise, 

Thus  to  his  partners,  by  the  crew  unheard, 

The  dictates  of  his  soul  the  chief  referr’d : — 

Ye  faithful  mates’,  who  all  my  troubles  share, 
Approved  companions  of  your  master’s  care. 

To  you,  alas ! ’t  were  fruitless  now  to  tell 
Our  sad  distress,  already  known  too  well. 

This  morn  with  favouring  gales  the  port  we  left, 


612] 


CANTO  II. 


73 


Though  now  of  every  flattering  hope  bereft. 

No  skill,  nor  long  experience  could  forecast 
Tlie  unseen  approach  of  this  destructive  blast : 
These  seas,  where  storms  at  various  seasons  blow, 
No  reigning  winds  nor  certain  omens  know. 

The  hour,  the  occasion,  all  your  skill  demands,  — 
A leaky  ship,  embay’d  by  dangerous  lands ! 

Our  bark  no  transient  jeopardy  surrounds ; 
Groaning  she  lies  beneath  unnumber’d  wounds. 

’T  is  ours  the  doubtful  remedy  to  find, 

To  shun  the  fury  of  the  seas  and  wind ; 

For  in  this  hollow  swell,  with  labour  sore. 

Her  flank  can  bear  the  bursting  floods  no  more. 
One  only  shift,  though  desperate,  we  must  try. 
And  that,  before  the  boisterous  storm  to  fly : 

Then  less  her  sides  will  feel  the  surges’  power. 
Which  thus  may  soon  the  foundering  hull  devour. 
’T  is  true,  the  vessel  and  her  costly  freight 
To  me  consign’d,  my  orders  only  wait ; 

Yet,  since  the  charge  of  every  life  is  mine. 

To  equal  votes  our  counsels  I resign. 

Forbid  it.  Heaven  ! that  in  this  dreadful  hour 
I claim  the  dangerous  reins  of  purblind  power ! 
But  should  we  now  resolve  to  bear  away. 

Our  hopeless  state  can  suffer  no  delay : 

Nor  can  we,  thus  bereft  of  every  sail, 


74 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[638 


Attempt  to  steer  obliquely  on  the  gale ; 

For  then,  if  broaching  sideway  to  the  sea. 

Our  dropsied  ship  may  founder  by  the  lee ; 

Vain  all  endeavours  then  to  bear  away, 

Nor  helm,  nor  pilot,  would  she  more  obey.” 

He  said : the  listening  mates  with  fix’d  regard 
And  silent  reverence,  his  opinion  heard : 

Important  was  the  question  in  debate. 

And  o’er  their  counsels  hung  impending  fate. 
Rodmond,  in  many  a scene  of  peril  tried. 

Had  oft  the  master’s  happier  skill  descried, 

Yet  now,  the  hour,  the  scene,  the  occasion  known. 
Perhaps  with  equal  right  preferr’d  his  own. 

Of  long  experience  in  the  naval  art. 

Blunt  was  his  speech,  and  naked  was  his  heart ; 
Alike  to  him  each  climate,  and  each  blast. 

The  first  in  danger,  in  retreat  the  last : 

Sagacious,  balancing  the  opposed  events. 

From  Albert  his  opinion  thus  dissents : — 

Too  true  the  perils  of  the  present  hour. 

Where  toils  succeeding  toils  our  strength  o’erpower 
Our  bark,  ’tis  true,  no  shelter  here  can  find. 

Sore  shatter’d  by  the  ruffian  seas  and  wind : 

Yet  where  with  safety  can  we  dare  to  scud 
Before  this  tempest,  and  pursuing  flood  ? 

At  random  driven,  to  present  death  we  haste, 


664] 


CANTO  II. 


75 


And  one  short  hour  perhaps  may  be  our  last. 
Though  Corinth’s  gulf  extend  along  the  lee, 

To  whose  safe  ports  appears  a passage  free, 

Yet  think  ! this  furious  unremitting  gale 
Deprives  the  ship  of  every  ruling  sail ; 

And  if  before  it  she  directly  flies. 

New  ills  enclose  us  and  new  dangers  rise : 

Here  Falconera  spreads  her  lurking  snares. 

There  distant  Greece  her  rugged  shelves  prepares ; 
Our  hull,  if  once  it  strikes  that  iron  coast. 

Asunder  bursts,  in  instant  ruin  lost ; 

Nor  she  alone,  but  with  her  all  the  crew, 

Beyond  relief,  are  doom’d  to  perish  too : 

Such  mischiefs  follow  if  we  bear  away  ; 

0 safer  that  sad  refuge  — to  delay ! 

“ Then  of  our  purpose  this  appears  the  scope, 

To  weigh  the  danger  with  the  doubtful  hope : 
Though  sorely  buffeted  by  every  sea. 

Our  hull  unbroken  long  may  try  a-lee ; 

The  crew,  though  harass’d  much  with  toils  severe, 
Still  at  their  pumps,  perceive  no  hazards  near : 
Shall  we,  incautious,  then  the  danger  tell. 

At  once  their  courage  and  their  hope  to  quell  ? 
Prudence  forbids ! this  southern  tempest  soon 
May  change  its  quarter  with  the  changing  moon ; 
Its  rage,  though  terrible,  may  soon  subside, 


76 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[690 


Nor  into  mountains  lash  the  unrulj  tide : 

These  leaks  shall  then  decrease  — the  sails  once 
more 

Direct  our  course  to  some  relieving  shore.” 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  around  from  man  to  man 
At  either  pump  a hollow  murmur  ran : 

For,  while  the  vessel  through  unnumber’d  chinks, 
Above,  below,  the  invading  water  drinks, 

Sounding  her  depth  they  eyed  the  wetted  scale, 

And  lo ! the  leaks  o’er  all  their  powers  prevail : 

Yet  at  their  post,  by  terrors  unsubdued. 

They  with  redoubling  force  their  task  pursued. 

And  now  the  senior  pilots  seem’d  to  wait 
Arion’s  voice,  to  close  the  dark  debate. 

Not  o’er  his  vernal  life  the  ripening  sun 
Had  yet  progressive  twice  ten  summers  run ; 

Slow  to  debate,  yet  eager  to  excel. 

In  thy  sad  school,  stern  Neptune ! taught  too  well ; 
With  lasting  pain  to  rend  his  youthful  heart 
Dire  fate  in  venom  dipt  her  keenest  dart, 

Till  his  firm  spirit,  temper’d  long  to  ill. 

Forgot  her  persecuting  scourge  to  feel: 

But  now  the  horrors,  that  around  him  roll, 

Thus  roused  to  action  his  rekindling  soul : — 

Can  we,  delay’d  in  this  tremendous  tide, 

A moment  pause  what  purpose  to  decide  ? 


715] 


CANTO  II. 


7? 


Alas ! from  circling  horrors  thus  combined, 

One  method  of  rehef  alone  we  find. 

Thus  water-logg’d,  thus  helpless  to  remain 
Amid  this  hollow,  how  ill  judged ! how  vain ! 

Our  sea-breach’d  vessel  can  no  longer  bear 
The  fioods  that  o’er  her  burst  in  dread  career ; 
The  labouring  hull  already  seems  half-fill’d 
With  water  through  a hundred  leaks  distill’d ; 

Thus  drench’d  by  every  wave,  her  riven  deck, 
Stript,  and  defenceless,  floats  a naked  wreck ; 

At  every  pitch  the  o’er  whelming  billows  bend 
Beneath  their  load  the  quivering  bowsprit’s  end  — 
A fearful  warning ! since  the  masts  on  high 
On  that  support  with  trembling  hope  rely ; 

At  either  pump  our  seamen  pant  for  breath. 

In  dire  dismay,  anticipating  death  ; 

Still  all  our  powers  the  increasing  leaks  defy. 

We  sink  at  sea,  no  shore,  no  haven  nigh. 

One  dawn  of  hope  yet  breaks  athwart  the  gloom. 
To  light  and  save  us  from  a watery  tomb ; 

That  bids  us  shun  the  death  impending  here. 

Fly  from  the  following  blast,  and  shoreward  steer. 

“ ’T  is  urged  indeed,  the  fury  of  the  gale 
Precludes  the  help  of  every  guiding  sail ; 

And,  driven  before  it  on  the  watery  waste. 

To  rocky  shores  and  scenes  of  death  we  haste. 


78 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[741 


But  haply  Falconera  we  may  shun, 

And  long  to  Grecian  coasts  is  yet  the  run : 

Less  harass’d  then,  our  scudding  ship  may  bear 
The  assaulting  surge  repelFd  upon  her  rear. 

And  since  as  soon  that  tempest  may  decay 
When  steering  shoreward  — wherefore  thus  delay  r 
Should  we  at  last  be  driven  by  dire  decree 
Too  near  the  fatal  margin  of  the  sea, 

The  hull  dismasted  there  awhile  may  ride 
With  lengthen’d  cables,  on  the  raging  tide : 

Perhaps  kind  Heaven,  with  interposing  power, 

May  curb  the  tempest  ere  that  dreadful  hour ; 

But  here,  ingulf d and  foundering,  while  we  stay, 
Fate  hovers  o’er  and  marks  us  for  her  prey.” 

He  said : Palemon  saw  with  grief  of  heart 
The  storm  prevailing  o’er  the  pilot’s  art ; 

In  silent  terror  and  distress  involved. 

He  heard  their  last  alternative  resolved : 

High  beat  his  bosom  — with  such  fear  subdued, 
Beneath  the  gloom  of  some  enchanted  wood. 

Oft  in  old  time  the  wandering  swain  explored 
The  midnight  wizards,  breathing  rites  abhorr’d ; 
Trembling,  approach’d  their  incantations  fell. 

And,  chiU’d  with  horror,  heard  the  songs  of  helL 
Arion  saw,  with  secret  anguish  moved. 

The  deep  affliction  of  the  friend  he  loved, 


767] 


CANTO  II. 


79 


And  all  awake  to  friendship’s  genial  heat, 

His  bosom  felt  consenting  tremors  beat. 

Alas  ! no  season  this  for  tender  love ; 

Far  hence  the  music  of  the  myrtle  grove : 

He  tried  with  soft  persuasion’s  melting  lore 
Palemon’s  fainting  courage  to  restore ; 

His  wounded  spirit  heal’d  with  friendship’s  balm, 
And  bade  each  conflict  of  the  mind  be  calm. 

Now  had  the  pilots  all  the  events  revolved, 

And  on  their  flnal  refuge  thus  resolved ; 

When,  like  the  faithful  shepherd  who  beholds 
Some  prowling  wolf  approach  his  fleecy  folds. 

To  the  brave  crew,  whom  racking  doubts  perplex, 
The  dreadful  purpose  Albert  thus  directs : — 

“ Unhappy  partners  in  a wayward  fate, 

Whose  courage  now  is  known  perhaps  too  late ; 
Ye  who  unmoved  behold  this  angry  storm 
In  conflict  all  the  rolling  deep  deform ; 

Who,  patient  in  adversity,  still  bear 

The  firmest  front  when  greatest  ills  are  near ; 

The  truth,  though  painful,  I must  now  reveal, 
That  long  in  vain  I purposed  to  conceal : 

In gulf  d,  all  help  of  art  we  vainly  try. 

To  weather  leeward  shores,  alas ! too  nigh ; 

Our  crazy  bark  no  longer  can  abide 

The  seas,  that  thunder  o’er  her  batter’d  side ; 


BO 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[793 


And  while  the  leaks  a fatal  warning  give 
That  in  this  raging  sea  she  cannot  live, 

One  only  refuge  from  despair  we  find  — 

At  once  to  wear  and  scud  before  the  wind. 
Perhaps  e’en  then  to  ruin  we  may  steer, 

For  rocky  shores  beneath  our  lee  appear; 

But  that’s  remote,  and  instant  death  is  here : 

Yet  there,  by  Heaven’s  assistance,  we  may  gain 
Some  creek  or  inlet  of  the  Grecian  main ; 

Or,  shelter’d  by  some  rock,  at  anchor  ride 
Till  with  abating  rage  the  blast  subside. 

But  if,  determined  by  the  will  of  Heaven, 

Our  helpless  bark  at  last  ashore  is  driven. 

These  councils  follow’d,  from  a watery  grave 
Our  crew  perhaps  amid  the  surf  may  save : — 

“ And  first,  let  all  our  axes  be  secured 
To  cut  the  masts  and  rigging  from  aboard ; 

Then  to  the  quarters  bind  each  plank  and  oar 
To  float  between  the  vessel  and  the  shore. 

The  longest  cordage  too  must  be  convey’d 
On  deck,  and  to  the  weather-rails  belay’d : 

So  they,  who  haply  reach  alive  the  land. 

The  extended  lines  may  fasten  on  the  strand. 
Whene’er,  loud  thundering  on  the  leeward  shoie, 
While  yet  aloof,  we  hear  the  breakers  roar. 

Thus  for  the  terrible  event  prepared. 


819] 


CANTO  II. 


81 


Brace  fore  and  aft  to  starboard  every  yard ; 

So  shall  our  masts  swim  lighter  on  the  wave, 

And  from  the  broken  rocks  our  seamen  save : 
Then  westward  turn  the  stem,  that  every  mast 
May  shoreward  fall  as  from  the  vessel  cast. 

When  o’er  her  side  once  more  the  billows  bound, 
Ascend  the  rigging  till  she  strikes  the  ground ; 
And,  when  you  hear  aloft  the  dreadful  shock 
That  strikes  her  bottom  on  some  pointed  rock, 

The  boldest  of  our  sailors  must  descend 
The  dangerous  business  of  the  deck  to  tend. 

Then  burst  the  hatches  off,  and,  every  stay 
And  every  fastening  lanyard  cut  away. 

Planks,  gratings,  booms,  and  rafts  to  leeward  cast; 
Then  with  redoubled  strokes  attack  each  mast. 
That  buoyant  lumber  may  sustain  you  o’er 
The  rocky  shelves  and  ledges  to  the  shore : 

But  as  your  firmest  succour,  till  the  last 
0 cling  securely  on  each  faithful  mast ! 

Though  great  the  danger,  and  the  task  severe, 

Yet  bow  not  to  the  tyranny  of  fear : 

If  once  that  slavish  yoke  your  souls  subdue. 

Adieu  to  hope ! to  life  itself  adieu ! 

I know  among  you  some  have  oft  beheld 
A bloodhound  train,  by  rapine’s  lust  impell’d. 

On  England’s  cruel  coast  impatient  stand, 

6 


82 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[845 


To  rob  the  wanderers  wreck’d  upon  their  strand : 
These,  while  their  savage  office  they  pursue, 

Oft  wound  to  death  the  helpless  plunder’d  crew. 
Who,  ’scaped  from  every  horror  of  the  main, 
Implored  their  mercy,  but  implored  in  vain. 

Yet  dread  not  this,  a crime  to  Greece  unknown ; 
Such  bloodhounds  all  her  circling  shores  disown ; 
Who,  though  by  barbarous  tyranny  opprest. 

Can  share  affliction  with  the  wretch  distrest ; 
Their  hearts,  by  cruel  fate  inured  to  grief. 

Oft  to  the  friendless  stranger  yield  relief.” 

With  conscious  horror  struck,  the  naval  band 
Detested  for  a while  their  native  land ; 

They  cursed  the  sleeping  vengeance  of  the  laws, 
That  thus  forgot  her  guardian  sailor’s  cause. 

Meanwhile  the  master’s  voice  again  they  heard 
Whom,  as  with  filial  duty,  all  revered : 

“ No  more  remains  — but  now  a trusty  band 
Must  ever  at  the  pumps  industrious  stand ; 

And,  while  with  us  the  rest  attend  to  wear, 

Two  skilful  seamen  to  the  helm  repair  — 

And  thou  Eternal  Power ! whose  awful  sway 
The  storms  revere,  and  roaring  seas  obey. 

On  thy  supreme  assistance  we  rely ; 

Thy  mercy  supplicate,  if  doom’d  to  die ! 

Perhaps  this  storm  is  sent  with  healing  breath 


83 


871]  CANTO  n. 

From  neighbouring  shores  to  scourge  disease  and 
death ; 

'T  is  ours  on  thine  unerring  laws  to  trust, 

With  thee,  great  Lord ! whatever  is,  is  just.” 

He  said  : and,  with  consenting  reverence  fraught, 
The  sailors  join’d  his  prayer  in  silent  thought : 

His  intellectual  eye,  serenely  bright, 

Saw  distant  objects  with  prophetic  light. 

Thus  in  a land,  that  lasting  wars  oppress. 

That  groans  beneath  misfortune  and  distress ; 

Whose  wealth  to  conquering  armies  falls  a prey. 

Till  all  her  vigour,  pride,  and  fame  decay  ; 

Some  bold  sagacious  statesman,  from  the  helm. 

Sees  desolation  gathering  o’er  his  realm  : 

He  darts  around  his  penetrating  eyes 
Where  dangers  grow,  and  hostile  unions  rise ; 

With  deep  attention  marks  the  invading  foe. 

Eludes  their  wiles  and  frustrates  every  blow. 

Tries  his  last  art  the  tottering  state  to  save. 

Or  in  its  ruins  find  a glorious  grave. 

Still  in  the  yawning  trough  the  vessel  reels, 
Ingulf’d  beneath  two  fluctuating  hills ; 

On  either  side  they  rise,  tremendous  scene ! 

A long  dark  melancholy  vale  between. 

The  balanced  ship  now  forward,  now  behind, 

Still  felt  the  impression  of  the  waves  and  wind, 


84 


THE  SHIPWKEOK. 


f89G 


And  to  the  right  and  left  by  turns  inclined ; 

But  Albert  from  behind  the  balance  drew, 

And  on  the  prow  its  double  efforts  threw. 

The  order  now  was  given  to  “bear  away”; 

The  order  given,  the  timoneers  obey : 

Both  stay-sail  sheets  to  mid-ships  were  convey’d, 
And  round  the  foremast  on  each  side  belay’d ; 

Thus  ready,  to  the  halyards  they  apply. 

They  hoist — away  the  flitting  ruins  fly  1 
Yet  Albert  new  resources  still  prepares. 

Conceals  his  grief,  and  doubles  all  his  cares.  — 

“ Away  there  ! lower  the  mizzen-yard  on  deck,” 

He  calls,  “ and  brace  the  foremost  yards  aback ! ” 
His  great  example  every  bosom  fires. 

New  life  rekindles  and  new  hope  inspires. 

While  to  the  helm  unfaithful  still  she  lies. 

One  desperate  remedy  at  last  he  tries : — 

“ Haste ! with  your  weapons  cut  the  shrouds  and 
stay, 

And  hew  at  once  the  mizzen-mast  away ! ” 

He  said : to  cut  the  girding  stay  they  run ; 

Soon  on  each  side  the  sever’d  shrouds  are  gone : 
Fast  by  the  fated  pine  bold  Rodmond  stands. 

The  impatient  axe  hung  gleaming  in  his  hands ; 
Brandish’d  on  high,  it  fell  with  dreadful  sound. 

The  tall  mast  groaning  felt  the  deadly  wound ; 


921] 


CANTO  n. 


85 


Deep  gash’d  beneath,  the  tottering  structure  rings, 
And  crashing,  thundering,  o’er  the  quarter  swings. 
Thus,  when  some  limb,  convulsed  with  pangs  of 
death, 

Imbibes  the  gangrene’s  pestilential  breath. 

The  experienced  artist  from  the  blood  betrays 
The  latent  venom,  or  its  course  delays ; 

But  if  the  infection  triumphs  o’er  his  art. 

Tainting  the  vital  stream  that  warms  the  heart, 

To  stop  the  course  of  death’s  inflaming  tides. 

The  infected  member  from  the  trunk  divides. 


THIRD  CANTO 


THE  SCENE  IS  EXTENDED  FROM  THAT  PART  OP 
THE  ARCHIPELAGO  WHICH  LIES 
TEN  MILES  TO  THE  NORTHWARD  OF  FALCONERA, 
TO  CAPE  COLONNA  IN  ATTICA. 

THE  TIME  ABOUT  SEVEN  HOURS  ; FROM  ONE,  UNTIL  EIGHT  IN 
THE  MORNING. 


ARGUMENT 


iu  The  beneficial  infiuence  of  poetry  in  the  civilization  of  man 
kind.  Diffidence  of  the  author.  II.  Wreck  of  the  mizzen- 
mast cleared  away.  Ship  put  before  the  wind  — labours 
much.  Different  stations  of  the  officers.  Appearance  of  the 
island  of  Falconera.  III.  Excursion  to  the  adjacent  nations 
of  Greece  renowned  in  antiquity.  Athens.  Socrates,  Plato, 
Aristides.  Solon.  Corinth  — its  architecture.  Sparta.  Le- 
onidas. Invasion  by  Xerxes.  Lycurgus.  Epaminondas. 
Present  state  of  the  Spartans.  Arcadia.  Former  happiness, 
and  fertility.  Its  present  distress  the  effect  of  slavery. 
Ithaca,  Ulysses,  and  Penelope.  Argos  and  Iklycaene.  Aga- 
memnon. Macronisi.  Lemnos.  Vulcan.  Delos.  Apollo 
and  Diana.  Troy.  Sestos.  Leander  and  Hero.  Delphos. 
Temple  of  Apollo.  Parnassus.  The  Muses.  IV.  Subject 
resumed.  Address  to  the  Spirits  of  the  Storm.  A tempest, 
accompanied  with  rain,  hail,  and  meteors.  Darkness  of  the 
night,  lightning  and  thunder.  Daybreak.  St.  George’s  cliffs 
open  upon  them.  The  ship,  in  great  danger,  passes  the  island 
of  St.  George.  V.  Land  of  Athens  appears.  Helmsman 
struck  blind  by  lightning.  Ship  laid  broadside  to  the  shore. 
Bowsprit,  foremast,  and  main  top-mast  carried  away.  Albert, 
Bodmond,  Arion,  and  Palemon  strive  to  save  themselves  on 
the  wreck  of  the  foremast.  The  ship  parts  asunder.  Death 
of  Albert  and  Rodmond.  Ai'ion  reaches  the  shore.  Finds 
Palemon  expiring  on  the  beach.  His  dying  address  to  Arion, 
who  is  led  away  by  the  humane  natives. 


THE  shipwreck- 


canto  m. 

I.  When  in  a barbarous  age,  with  blood  defiled, 
The  human  savage  roam’d  the  gloomy  wild ; 

When  sullen  ignorance  her  flag  display’d. 

And  rapine  and  revenge  her  voice  obey’d ; 

Sent  from  the  shores  of  light,  the  Muses  came. 

The  dark  and  solitary  race  to  tame. 

The  war  of  lawless  passions  to  control. 

To  melt  in  tender  sympathy  the  soul ; 

The  heart’s  remote  recesses  to  explore. 

And  touch  its  springs  when  prose  avail’d  no  more. 
The  kindling  spirit  caught  the  empyreal  ray, 

And  glow’d  congenial  with  the  swelling  lay : 
Roused  from  the  chaos  of  primeval  night. 

At  once  fair  truth  and  reason  sprung  to  light- 
When  great  Moeonides,  in  rapid  song. 

The  thundering  tide  of  battle  rolls  along, 


90 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


in 

Each  ravish’d  bosom  feels  the  high  alarms. 

And  all  the  burning  pulses  beat  to  arms : 

Hence,  war’s  terrific  glory  to  display. 

Became  the  theme  of  every  epic  lay. 

But  when  his  strings  with  mournful  magic  tell 
What  dire  distress  Laertes’  son  befell, 

The  strains  meandering  through  the  maze  of  woe 
Bid  sacred  sympathy  the  heart  o’erflow. 

Far  through  the  boundless  realms  of  thought  he 
springs, 

From  earth  upborne  on  Pegasean  wings, 

While  distant  poets,  trembling  as  they  view 
His  sunward  flight,  the  dazzling  track  pursue  ; 

His  magic  voice  that  rouses  and  delights, 

Allures  and  guides  to  climb  Olympian  heights. 

But  I,  alas ! through  scenes  bewilder’d  stray, 

Far  from  the  light  of  his  unerring  ray ; 

While,  all  unused  the  wayward  path  to  tread, 
Darkling  I wander  with  prophetic  dread. 

To  me  in  vain  the  bold  Maeonian  lyre 
Awakes  the  numbers  fraught  with  living  fire. 

Full  oft  indeed  that  mournful  harp  of  yore 
Wept  the  sad  wanderer  lost  upon  the  shore; 

’Tis  true  he  lightly  sketch’d  the  bold  design, 

But  toils  more  joyless,  more  severe  are  mine  : 

Since  o’er  that  scene  his  genius  swiftly  ran, 


421 


CANTO  III. 


91 


Subservient  only  to  a nobler  plan  ; 

But  I,  perplex’d  in  labyrinths  of  art, 

Anatomize,  and  blazon  every  part ; 

Attempt  with  plaintive  numbers  to  display, 

And  chain  the  events  in  regular  array ; 

Though  hard  the  task  to  sing  in  varied  strains. 
When  still  unchanged  the  same  sad  theme  remains. 
0 could  it  draw  compassion’s  melting  tear 
For  kindred  miseries,  oft  beheld  too  near ; 

For  kindred  wretches,  oft  in  ruin  cast 
On  Albion’s  strand  beneath  the  wintry  blast ; 

For  all  the  pangs,  the  complicated  woe. 

Her  bravest  sons,  her  guardian  sailors  know  — 
Then  every  breast  should  sigh  at  our  distress ; 

This  were  the  summit  of  my  hoped  success ; 

For  this,  my  theme  through  mazes  I pursue 
Which  nor  Maeonides  nor  Maro  knew. 

II.  Awhile  the  mast,  in  ruins  dragg’d  behind, 
Balanced  the  impression  of  the  helm  and  wind : 
The  wounded  serpent  agonized  with  pain 
Thus  trails  his  mangled  volume  on  the  plain. 

But  now,  the  wreck  dissever’d  from  the  rear. 

The  long  reluctant  prow  began  to  veer : 

Wliile  round  before  the  enlarging  wind  it  falls, 

‘‘  Square  fore  and  aft  the  yards,”  the  master  calls : 

“ You  timoneers  her  motion  still  attend. 


92 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[68 


For  on  your  steerage  all  our  lives  depend: 

So  steady  ! meet  her ! watch  the  curving  prow, 
And  from  the  gale  directly  let  her  go.” 

Starboard  again  ! ” the  watchful  pilot  cries ; 

‘‘  Starboard ! ” the  obedient  timoneer  replies : 

Then  back  to  port,  revolving  at  command. 

The  wheel  rolls  swiftly  through  each  glowing  hand. 
The  ship  no  longer,  foundering  by  the  lee. 

Bears  on  her  side  the  invasions  of  the  sea ; 

All  lonely  o’er  the  desert  waste  she  flies. 

Scourged  on  by  surges,  storms,  and  bursting  skies. 
As  when  inclosing  harponeers  assail 
In  Hyperborean  seas  the  slumbering  whale. 

Soon  as  their  javelins  pierce  his  scaly  side. 

He  groans,  he  darts  impetuous  down  the  tide. 

And,  rack’d  all  o’er  with  lacerating  pain. 

He  flies  remote  beneath  the  flood  in  vain  — 

So  with  resistless  haste  the  wounded  ship 
Scuds  from  pursuing  waves  along  the  deep ; 

While,  dash’d  apart  by  her  dividing  prow. 

Like  burning  adamant  the  waters  glow ; 

Her  joints  forget  their  firm  elastic  tone. 

Her  long  keel  trembles,  and  her  timbers  groan. 
Upheaved  behind  her  in  tremendous  height, 

The  billows  frown,  with  fearful  radiance  bright ; 
Now  quivering  o’er  the  topmost  waves  she  rides, 


14] 


CANTO  III. 


93 


While  deep  beneath  the  enormous  gulf  divides ; 

Now  launching  headlong  down  the  horrid  vale, 
Becalm’d  she  hears  no  more  the  howhng  gale, 

Till  up  the  dreadful  height  again  she  flies, 

Trembling  beneath  the  current  of  the  skies. 

As  that  rebellious  angel,  who,  from  heaven. 

To  regions  of  eternal  pain  was  driven. 

When  dreadless  he  forsook  the  Stygian  shore 
The  distant  realms  of  Eden  to  explore. 

Here,  on  sulphureous  clouds  sublime  upheaved. 

With  daring  wing  the  infernal  air  he  cleaved ; 

There,  in  some  hideous  gulf  descending  prone. 

Far  in  the  void  abrupt  of  night  was  thrown  — 

E’en  so  she  climbs  the  briny  mountain’s  height. 

Then  down  the  black  abyss  precipitates  her  flight : 
The  masts,  about  whose  tops  the  whirlwinds  sing. 
With  long  vibration  round  her  axle  swing. 

To  guide  her  wayward  course  amid  the  gloom. 
The  watchful  pilots  different  posts  assume : 

Albert  and  Rodmond  on  the  poop  appear. 

There  to  direct  each  guiding  timoneer ; 

While  at  the  bow  the  watch  Arion  keeps. 

To  shun  what  cruisers  wander  o’er  the  deeps. 
Where’er  he  moves  Palemon  still  attends. 

As  if  on  him  his  only  hope  depends ; 

While  Rodmond,  fearful  of  some  neighbouring  shore, 


H 


THE  SlIirWRECK. 


[120 


Cries,  ever  and  anon,  Look  out  afore ! ” 

Thus  o’er  the  flood  four  hours  she  scudding  flew, 
When  Falconera’s  rugged  cliffs  they  view, 

Faintly  along  the  larboard  bow  descried, 

As  o’er  its  mountain  tops  the  lightnings  glide. 

Higli  o’er  its  summit,  through  the  gloom  of  night. 
The  glimmering  watch-tower  casts  a mournful  light . 
In  dire  amazement  riveted  they  stand. 

And  hear  the  breakers  lash  the  rugged  strand  — 

Eut  scarce  perceived,  when  past  the  beam  it  flies, 
Swift  as  the  rapid  eagle  cleaves  the  skies. 

That  danger  past  reflects  a feeble  joy. 

But  soon  returning  fears  their  hope  destroy. 

As  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  when  we  find 
Some  Alp  of  ice  driven  southward  by  the  wind, 

The  sultry  air  all  sickening  pants  around. 

In  deluges  of  torrid  ether  drown’d, 

Till  when  the  floating  isle  approaches  nigh, 
tn  cooling  tides  the  aerial  billows  fly ; 

Awhile  deliver’d  from  the  scorching  heat. 

In  gentler  tides  our  feverish  pulses  beat ; 

Such  transient  pleasure,  as  they  pass’d  this  strand, 

A moment  bade  their  throbbing  hearts  expand ; 

The  illusive  meteors  of  a lifeless  fire. 

Too  soon  they  kindle,  and  too  soon  expire,  [tongue 
IIL  Say,  Memory!  thou,  from  whose  unerring 


146] 


CANTO  III. 


95 


Instructive  flows  the  animated  song, 

What  regions  now  4:he  scudding  ship  surround  ? 
Regions  of  old  through  all  the  world  renown’d ; 
That,  once  the  poet’s  theme,  the  Muses’  boast, 

Now  lie  in  ruins,  in  oblivion  lost ! 

Did  they  whose  sad  distress  these  lays  deplore, 
Unskill’d  in  Grecian  or  in  Roman  lore, 
Unconscious  pass  along  each  famous  shore  ? 

They  did : for  in  this  desert,  joyless  soil. 

No  flowers  of  genial  science  deign  to  smile ; 

Sad  ocean’s  genius,  in  untimely  hour. 

Withers  the  bloom  of  every  springing  flower ; 

For  native  tempests  here,  with  blasting  breath, 
Despoil,  and  doom  the  vernal  buds  to  death ; 

Here  fancy  droops,  while  sullen  clouds  and  storm 
The  generous  temper  of  the  soul  deform. 

Then,  if  among  the  wandering  naval  train. 

One  stripling,  exiled  from  the  Aonian  plain. 

Had  e’er,  entranced  in  fancy’s  soothing  dream. 
Approach’d  to  taste  the  sweet  Castalian  stream 
(Since  those  salubrious  streams,  with  power  divine. 
To  purer  sense  the  soften’d  soul  refine), 

Shre  he,  amid  unsocial  mates  immured. 

To  learning  lost,  severer  grief  endured ; 

In  vain  might  Phoebus’  ray  his  mind  inspire, 

Since  fate  with  torrents  quench’d  the  kindling  fire. 


96 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[172 


If  one  this  pain  of  living  death  possest, 

It  dwelt  supreme,  Arion ! in  thy  breast, 

Wlien,  with  Palemon,  watching  in  the  night 
Beneath  pale  Cynthia’s  melancholy  light. 

You  oft  recounted  those  surrounding  states. 

Whose  glory  fame  with  brazen  tongue  relates. 

Immortal  Athens  first,  in  ruin  spread. 

Contiguous  lies  at  Port  Liono’s  head ; 

Great  source  of  science ! whose  immortal  name 
Stands  foremost  in  the  glorious  roll  of  fame. 

Here  god-like  Socrates  and  Plato  shone, 

And,  fi^rm  to  truth,  eternal  honour  won : 

The  first  in  virtue’s  cause  his  life  resign’d. 

By  Heaven  pronounced  the  wisest  of  mankind ; 

The  last  proclaim’d  the  spark  of  vital  fire. 

The  soul’s  fine  essence,  never  could  expire. 

Here  Solon  dwelt,  the  philosophic  sage 
That  fied  Pisistratus’  vindictive  rage ; 

Just  Aristides  here  maintain’d  the  cause. 

Whose  sacred  precepts  shine  through  Solon’s  laws. 
Of  all  her  towering  structures,  now  alone 
Some  columns  stand,  with  mantling  weeds  o’er- 
grown. 

The  wandering  stranger  near  the  port  descries 
A milk-white  lion  of  stupendous  size, 

Of  antique  marble  : hence  the  haven’s  name, 


97 


I97j  CANTO  m. 

Unknown  to  modern  natives  whence  it  came. 

Next,  in  the  gulf  of  Engia,  Corinth  lies, 

Whose  gorgeous  fabrics  seem’d  to  strike  the  skies ; 
Whom,  though  by  tyrant  victors  oft  subdued, 
Greece,  Egypt,  Rome,  with  admiration  view’d. 

Her  name,  for  architecture  long  renown’d. 

Spread  like  the  foliage  which  her  pillars  crown’d ; 
But  now,  in  fatal  desolation  laid, 

Obhvion  o’er  it  draws  a dismal  shade. 

Then  further  westward,  on  Morea’s  land. 

Fair  IMisitra,  thy  modern  turrets  stand: 

Ah ! who,  unmoved  with  secret  woe,  can  tell 
That  here  great  Lacedaemon’s  glory  fell. 

Here  once  she  flourish’d  at  whose  trumpet’s  sound 
War  burst  his  chains,  and  nations  shook  around : 
Here  brave  Leonidas  from  shore  to  shore 
Through  all  Achaia  bade  her  thunders  roar. 

He,  when  imperial  Xerxes  from  afar 
Advanced  with  Persia’s  sumless  hosts  to  war. 

Till  Macedonia  shrunk  beneath  his  spear. 

And  Greece  all  shudder’d  as  tlie  chief  drew  near ; 
He,  at  Thermopylae’s  decisive  plain, 

Their  force  opposed  with  Sparta’s  glorious  train ; 
Tall  CEta  saw  the  tyrant’s  conquer’d  bands 
In  gasping  millions  bleed  on  hostile  lands. 

Thus  vanquish’d,  haughty  Asia  heard  thy  name, 

7 


98 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[223 


And  Thebes  and  Athens,  sicken’d  at  thy  fame ; 
Tliy  state,  supported  by  Lycurgus’  laws, 

Gain’d,  like  thine  arms,  superlative  applause ; 
E’en  great  Epaminondas  strove  in  vain 
To  curb  thy  spirit  with  a Theban  chain. 

But  ah,  how  low  that  free-born  spirit  now ! 

Thy  abject  sons  to  haughty  tyrants  bow ; 

A false,  degenerate,  superstitious  race 
Invest  thy  region,  and  its  name  disgrace. 

Not  distant  far,  Arcadia’s  blest  domains 
Peloponnesus’  circling  shore  contains : 

Thrice  happy  soil ! where,  still  serenely  gay. 
Indulgent  Flora  breathed  perpetual  May; 

Where  buxom  Ceres  bade  each  fertile  field 
Spontaneous  gifts  in  rich  profusion  yield. 

Then,  with  some  rural  nymph  supremely  blest. 
While  transport  glow’d  in  each  enamour’d  breast. 
Each  faithful  shepherd  told  his  tender  pain. 

And  sung  of  sylvan  sports  in  artless  strain  — 

Soft  as  the  happy  swain’s  enchanting  lay 
That  pipes  among  the  shades  of  Endermay. 

Now,  sad  reverse ! oppression’s  iron  hand 
Enslaves  her  natives,  and  despoils  her  land ; 

In  lawless  rapine  bred,  a sanguine  train. 

With  midnight  ravage,  scour  the  uncultured  plain. 
Westward  of  these,  beyond  the  Isthmus,  lies 


249] 


CANTO  III. 


99 


The  long  sought  isle  of  Ithacus  the  wise ; 

Where  fair  Penelope,  of  him  deprived, 

To  guard  her  honour  endless  schemes  contrived. 
She,  only  shielded  by  a stripling  son, 

Her  lord  Ulysses  long  to  Ilion  gone. 

Each  bold  attempt  of  suitor-kings  repell’d. 

And  undefiled  her  nuptial  contract  held ; 

True  to  her  vows,  and  resolutely  chaste. 

Met  arts  with  art,  and  triumphed  at  the  last. 

Argos,  in  Greece  forgotten  and  unknown, 

Still  seems  her  cruel  fortune  to  bemoan : 

Argos,  whose  monarch  led  the  Grecian  hosts 
Across  the  ^gean  main  to  Dardan  coasts. 
Unhappy  prince ! who,  on  a hostile  shore. 

Fatigue,  and  danger,  ten  long  winters  bore. 

And  when  to  native  realms  restored  at  last, 

To  reap  the  harvest  of  thy  labours  past. 

There  found  a perjured  friend,  and  faithless  wife, 
Who  sacrificed  to  impious  lust  thy  life. 

Fast  by  Arcadia  stretch  these  desert  plains, 

And  o’er  the  land  a gloomy  tyrant  reigns. 

Next,  Macronisi  is  adjacent  seen. 

Where  adverse  winds  detain’d  the  Spartan  queen ; 
For  whom,  in  arms  combined,  the  Grecian  host, 
Witli  vengeance  fired,  invaded  Plirygia’s  coast ; 
For  whom  so  long  they  labour’d  to  destroy 


JOO 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[275 


The  lofty  turrets  of  imperial  Troy. 

Here  driven  by  Juno’s  rage,  the  hapless  dame, 
Forlorn  of  heart,  from  ruin’d  Ilion  came: 

The  port  an  image  bears  of  Parian  stone, 

Of  ancient  fabric,  but  of  date  unknown. 

Due  east  from  this  appears  the  immortal  shore 
That  sacred  Phoebus  and  Diana  bore, 

Delos,  through  all  the  ^gean  seas  renown’d. 
Whose  coast  the  rocky  Cyclades  surround. 

By  Phoebus  honour’d,  and  by  Greece  revered. 
Her  hallow’d  groves  e’en  distant  Persia  fear’d ; 
But  now  a desert,  unfrequented  land. 

No  human  footstep  marks  the  trackless  sand. 

Thence  to  the  north,  by  Asia’s  western  bound, 
Fair  Lemnos  stands,  with  rising  marble  crown’d ; 
Where,  in  her  rage,  avenging  Juno  hurl’d 
Ill-fated  Vulcan  from  the  ethereal  world. 

There  his  eternal  anvils  first  he  rear’d ; 

Then,  forged  by  Cyclopean  art,  appear’d 
Thunders  that  shook  the  skies  with  dire  alarms. 
And  form’d  by  skill  divine,  immortal  arms. 

There,  with  this  crippled  wretch,  the  foul  disgrace 
And  living  scandal  of  the  empyreal  race. 

In  wedlock  lived  the  beauteous  queen  of  love ; 
Can  such  sensations  heavenly  bosoms  move ! 
Eastward  of  this  appears  the  Dardan  shore, 


801] 


CANTO  III. 


101 


That  once  the  imperial  towers  of  Ilium  bore, 
Illustrious  Troj ! renown’d  in  every  clime 
Through  the  long  records  of  succeeding  time ; 

Who  saw  protecting  gods  from  heaven  descend 
Full  oft,  thy  royal  bulwarks  to  defend. 

Though  chiefs  unnumbered  in  her  cause  were  slain, 
With  fate  the  gods  and  heroes  fought  in  vain ; 

That  refuge  of  perfidious  Helen’s  shame 
At  midnight  was  involved  in  Grecian  fiame ; 

And  now,  by  time’s  deep  ploughshare  harrow’d  o er, 
The  seat  of  sacred  Troy  is  found  no  more. 

No  trace  of  her  proud  fabrics  now  remains. 

But  corn  and  vines  enrich  her  cultured  plains  ; 
Silver  Scamander  laves  the  verdant  shore, 
Scamander,  oft  o’erflow’d  with  hostile  gore. 

Not  far  removed  from  Ilion’s  famous  land, 

In  counter-view  appears  the  Thracian  strand. 
Where  beauteous  Hero,  from  the  turret’s  height, 
Display’d  her  cresset  each  revolving  night. 

Whose  gleam  directed  loved  Leander  o’er 
The  rolling  Hellespont  from  Asia’s  shore ; 

Till  in  a fated  hour,  on  Thracia’s  coast, 

She  saw  her  lover’s  lifeless  body  tost. 

Then  felt  her  bosom  agony  severe; 

Her  eyes,  sad  gazing,  pour’d  tlie  incessant  tear; 
O’erwhelm’d  with  anguish,  frantic  with  despair, 


102 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[327 


She  beat  her  swelling  breast,  and  tore  her  hair ; 
On  dear  Leander’s  name  in  vain  she  cried, 

Then  headlong  plunged  into  the  parting  tide : 

The  exulting  tide  received  the  lovely  maid. 

And  proudly  from  the  strand  its  freight  convey’d. 

Far  west  of  Thrace,  beyond  the  -zEgean  main, 
Remote  from  ocean  lies  the  Delphic  plain : 

The  v^acred  oracle  of  Phoebus  there 
High  o’er  the  mount  arose,  divinely  fair. 

Achaian  marble  form’d  the  gorgeous  pile, 

August  the  fabric,  elegant  its  style ; 

On  brazen  hinges  turn’d  the  silver  doors. 

And  chequer’d  marble  paved  the  polish’d  floors ; 
The  roof,  where  storied  tablature  appear’d. 

On  columns  of  Corinthian  mould  was  rear’d ; 

Of  shining  porphyry  the  shafts  were  framed. 

And  i-ound  the  hollow  dome  bright  jewels  flamed  ; 
Apollo’s  priests,  before  the  holy  shrine, 

Su})pliant,  pour’d  forth  their  orisons  divine. 

To  front  the  sun’s  declining  ray  ’twas  placed. 
With  golden  harps  and  branching  laurels  graced : 
Aground  the  iane,  engraved  by  Vulcan’s  hand. 

The  sciences  and  arts  were  seen  to  stand ; 

Here  ^sculapius’  snake  display’d  his  crest, 

And  burning  glories  sparkled  on  his  breast, 

While  from  his  eye’s  insufferable  light 


353] 


CANTO  111. 


103 


Disease  and  death  recoil’d  in  headlong  flight. 

Of  this  great  temple,  through  all  time  renown’d, 
Sunk  in  oblivion,  no  remains  are  found. 

Contiguous  here,  with  hallow’d  woods  o’erspread, 
Renown’d  Parnassus  lifts  its  honour’d  head. 

There  roses  blossom  in  eternal  spring. 

And  strains  celestial  feather’d  warblers  sing : 

Apollo,  here,  bestows  the  unfading  wreath ; 

Here  zephyrs  aromatic  odours  breathe ; 

They  o’er  Castalian  plains  diffuse  perfume. 

Where  round  the  scene  perennial  laurels  bloom. 

F air  daughters  of  the  sun,  the  sacred  Nine 
Here  wake  to  ecstasy  their  harps  divine. 

Or  bid  the  Paphian  lute  mellifluous  play, 

And  tune  to  plaintive  love  the  liquid  lay. 

Their  numbers  every  mental  storm  control. 

And  lull  to  harmony  the  afflicted  soul. 

With  heavenly  balm  the  tortured  breast  compose, 
And  soothe  the  agony  of  latent  woes. 

The  verdant  shades  that  Helicon  surround. 

On  rosy  gales  seraphic  tunes  resound ; 

Perpetual  summers  crown  the  happy  hours. 

Sweet  as  the  breath  that  fans  Elysian  flowers; 

Hence  pleasure  dances  in  an  endless  round, 

A.nd  love  and  joy,  ineffable,  abound.  [strains 

IV.  Stop,  wandering  thought ! methinks  I feel  theii 


104 


THE'  SHIPWRECK. 


[379 


Diflfuse  delicious  languor  through  mj  veins. 

Adieu,  ye  flowery  vales,  and  fragrant  scenes, 
Delightful  bowers,  and  ever  vernal  greens ! 

Adieu,  ye  streams  ! that  o’er  enchanted  ground 
In  lucid  maze  the  Aonian  hill  surround ; 

Y e fairy  scenes ! where  fancy  loves  to  dwell, 

And  young  delight,  for  ever,  oh,  farewell ! 

The  soul  with  tender  luxury  you  fill. 

And  o’er  the  sense  Lethean  dews  distill. 

Awake,  O Memory ! from  the  inglorious  dream; 
With  brazen  lungs  resume  the  kindling  theme ; 
Collect  thy  powers,  arouse  thy  vital  fire! 

Ye  spirits  of  the  storm  my  verse  inspire  I 
Hoarse  as  the  whirlwinds  that  enrage  the  mam. 

In  torrent  pour  along  the  swelling  strain. 

Now,  through  the  parting  wave  impetuous  bore. 
The  scudding  vessel  stemm’d  the  Athenian  shore. 
The  pilots,  as  the  waves  behind  her  swell. 

Still  with  the  wheeling  stern  their  force  repell ; 
For  this  assault  should  either  quarter  feel. 

Again  to  flank  the  tempest  she  might  reel : 

The  steersmen  every  bidden  turn  apply. 

To  right  and  left  the  spokes  alternate  fly. 

Thus,  when  some  conquer’d  host  retreats  in  fear. 
The  bravest  leaders  guard  the  broken  rear ; 
Indignant  they  retire,  and  long  oppose 


405] 


CANTO  III. 


105 


Superior  armies  that  around  them  close ; 

Still  shield  the  flanks,  the  routed  squadrons  join, 

And' guide  the  flight  in  one  continued  line : 

Thus  they  direct  the  flying  bark  before 

The  impelling  floods,  that  lash  her  to  the  shore. 

High  o’er  the  poop  the  audacious  seas  aspire, 

Uproll’d  in  hills  of  fluctuating  Are ; 

With  labouring  throes  she  rolls  on  either  side. 

And  dips  her  gunnels  in  the  yawning  tide ; 

Her  joints  unhinged  in  palsied  languors  play, 

As  ice-flakes  part  beneath  the  noon-tide  ray. 

The  gale  howls  doleful  through  the  blocks  and  shrouds. 
And  big  rain  pours  a deluge  from  the  clouds ; 

From  wintry  magazines  that  sweep  the  sky. 
Descending  globes  of  hail  impetuous  fly ; 

High  on  the  masts,  with  pale  and  livid  rays. 

Amid  the  gloom  portentous  meteors  blaze ; 

The  ethereal  dome  in  mournful  pomp  array’d 
Now  buried  lies  beneath  impervious  shade. 

Now,  flashing  round  intolerable  light. 

Redoubles  all  the  horror  of  the  night. 

Such  terror  Sinai’s  trembling  hill  o’erspread. 

When  heaven’s  loud  trumpet  sounded  o’er  its  head : 

It  seem’d,  the  wrathful  angel  of  the  wind 
Had  all  the  horrors  of  the  skies  combined. 

And  here,  to  one  ill-fated  ship  opposed. 


106 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[431 


At  once  the  dreadful  magazine  disclosed. 

And  lo ! tremendous  o’er  the  deep  he  springs, 

The  inflaming  sulphur  flashing  from  his  wings ; 
Hark ! his  strong  voice  the  dismal  silence  breaks, 
Mad  chaos  from  the  chains  of  death  awakes : 

Loud,  and  more  loud,  the  rolling  peals  enlarge. 
And  blue  on  deck  the  fiery  tides  discharge. 

There  all  aghast  the  shivering  wretches  stood. 
While  chill  suspense  and  fear  congeal’d  their  blood 
Wide  bursts  in  dazzling  sheets  the  living  flame. 
And  dread  concussion  rends  the  ethereal  frame ; 
Sick  earth  convulsive  groans  from  shore  to  shore. 
And  nature,  shuddering,  feels  the  horrid  roar. 

Still  the  sad  prospect  rises  on  my  sight. 

Reveal’d  in  all  its  mournful  shade  and  light ; 

E’en  now  my  ear  with  quick  vibration  feels 
The  explosion  burst  in  strong  rebounding  peals ; 
Swift  through  my  pulses  glides  the  kindling  fire. 

As  lightning  glances  on  the  electric  wire : 

Yet  ah ! the  languid  colours  vainly  strive 
To  bid  the  scene  in  native  hues  revive. 

But  lo ! at  last,  from  tenfold  darkness  born, 

F orth  issues  o’er  the  wave  the  weeping  morn. 

Hail,  sacred  vision  ! who,  on  orient  wings. 

The  cheering  dawn  of  light  propitious  brings ; 

Adi  nature  smiling  hail’d  the  vivid  ray 


457] 


CANTO  ni. 


107 


That  gave  her  beauties  to  returning  day  — 

All  but  our  ship  ! which,  groaning  on  the  tide, 

No  kind  relief,  no  gleam  of  hope  descried ; 

For  now  in  front  her  trembling  inmates  see 
The  hills  of  Greece  emerging  on  the  lee. 

So  the  lost  lover  views  that  fatal  morn, 

On  which,  for  ever  from  his  bosom  torn. 

The  maid  adored  resigns  her  blooming  charms, 

To  bless  with  love  some  happier  rival’s  arms : 

So  to  Eliza  dawn’d  that  cruel  day 
That  tore  ^neas  from  her  sight  away. 

That  saw  him  parting  never  to  return. 

Herself  in  funeral  flames  decreed  to  burn. 

O yet  in  clouds,  thou  genial  source  of  light. 

Conceal  thy  radiant  glories  from  our  sight ! 

Go,  with  thy  smile  adorn  the  happy  plain. 

And  gild  the  scenes  where  health  and  pleasure  reign 
But  let  not  here,  in  scorn,  thy  wanton  beam 
Insult  the  dreadful  grandeur  of  my  theme. 

While  shoreward  now  the  bounding  vessel  flies, 
Full  in  her  van  St.  George’s  cliffs  arise ; 

High  o’er  the  rest  a pointed  crag  is  seen. 

That  hung  projecting  o’er  a mossy  green ; 

Huge  breakers  on  the  larboard  bow  appear, 

And  full  a-head  its  eastern  ledges  bear. 

To  steer  more  eastward  Albert  still  commands, 


108 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[483 


And  shun,  if  possible,  the  fatal  strands. 

Nearer  and  nearer  now  the  danger  grows, 

And  all  their  skill  relentless  fates  oppose ; 

For  while  more  eastward  they  direct  the  prow, 
Enormous  waves  the  quivering  deck  o’erflow ; 

While,  as  she  wheels,  unable  to  subdue 
Her  sallies,  still  they  dread  her  broaching-to. 
Alarming  thought ! for  now  no  more  a-lee 
Her  trembling  side  could  bear  the  mountain’d  sea, 
And  if  pursuing  waves  she  scuds  before. 

Headlong  she  runs  upon  the  frightful  shore ; 

A shore,  where  shelves  and  hidden  rocks  abound. 
Where  death  in  secret  ambush  lurks  around. 

Not  half  so  dreadful  to  -ZEneas’  eyes 
The  straits  of  Sicily  were  seen  to  rise. 

When  Palinurus  from  the  helm  descried 
The  rocks  of  Scylla  on  his  eastern  side. 

While  in  the  west,  with  hideous  yawn  disclosed. 

His  onward  path  Charybdis’  gulf  opposed. 

The  double  danger  he  alternate  view’d. 

And  cautiously  his  arduous  track  pursued : 

Thus,  while  to  right  and  left  destruction  hes. 

Between  the  extremes  the  daring  vessel  flies. 

With  terrible  irruption  bursting  o’er 
The  marble  cliffs,  tremendous  surges  roar ; 

Hoarse  through  each  winding  creek  the  tempest  raves, 


509] 


CANTO  III. 


109 


And  hollow  rocks  repeat  the  groan  of  waves. 
Should  once  the  bottom  strike  this  cruel  shore, 

The  parting  ship  that  instant  is  no  more ; 

Nor  she  alone,  but  with  her  all  the  crew, 

Beyond  relief,  are  doom’d  to  perish  too. 

But  haply  she  escapes  the  dreadful  strand, 

Thouo^h  scarce  her  length  in  distance  from  the  land : 
Swift  as  the  weapon  quits  the  Scythian  bow. 

She  cleaves  the  burning  billows  with  her  prow, 
And  forward  hurrying  with  impetuous  haste, 

Borne  on  the  tempest’s  wings  the  isle  she  past ! 
AYith  longing  eyes,  and  agony  of  mind. 

The  sailors  view  this  refuge  left  behind ; 

Happy  to  bribe  with  India’s  richest  ore 
A safe  accession  to  that  barren  shore. 

When  in  the  dark  Peruvian  mine  confined, 

Lost  to  the  cheerful  commerce  of  mankind, 

The  groaning  captive  wastes  his  life  away. 

For  ever  exiled  from  the  realms  of  day. 

Not  half  such  pangs  his  bosom  agonize 
When  up  to  distant  light  he  rolls  his  eyes, 

Where  the  broad  sun,  in  his  diurnal  way 
Imparts  to  all  beside  his  vivid  ray, 

While,  all  forlorn,  the  victim  pines  in  vain 
For  scenes  he  never  shall  possess  again. 

V.  But  now  Athenian  mountains  they  descry, 


uo 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[535 


And  o’er  the  surge  Colonna  frowns  on  high, 
Where  marble  columns,  long  by  time  defaced, 
Moss-cover’d  on  the  lofty  Cape  are  placed  ; 
There  rear’d  by  fair  devotion  to  sustain 
In  elder  times  Tritonia’s  sacred  fane. 

The  circling  beach  in  murderous  form  appears. 
Decisive  goal  of  all  their  hopes  and  fears. 

The  seamen  now  in  wild  amazement  see 
The  scene  of  ruin  rise  beneath  their  lee ; 

Swift  from  their  minds  elapsed  all  dangers  past, 
As  dumb  with  terror  they  behold  the  last. 

And  now,  while  wing’d  with  ruin  from  on  high. 
Through  the  rent  cloud  the  ragged  lightnings  fly, 
A flash,  quick  glancing  on  the  nerves  of  light, 
Struck  the  pale  helmsman  with  eternal  night. 
Rodmond,  who  heard  a piteous  groan  behind. 
Touch’d  with  compassion  gazed  upon  the  blind ; 
And,  while  around  his  sad  companions  crowd. 

He  guides  the  unhappy  victim  to  the  shroud : 

Hie  thee  aloft,  my  gallant  friend ! ” he  cries ; 
Thy  only  succour  on  the  mast  relies.” 

The  helm,  bereft  of  half  its  vital  force. 

Now  scarce  subdued  the  wild  unbridled  course : 
Quick  to  the  abandon’d  wheel  Arion  came. 

The  ship’s  tempestuous  sallies  to  reclaim. 

The  vessel,  while  the  dread  event  draws  nigh, 


561] 


CANTO  lU. 


Ill 


Seems  more  impatient  o’er  the  waves  to  fly : 

Fate  spurs  her  on ! — thus,  issuing  from  afar, 
Advances  to  the  sun  some  blazing  star, 

And,  as  it  feels  attraction’s  kindling  force. 

Springs  onward  with  accelerated  course. 

The  moment  fraught  with  fate  approaches  fast. 
While  thronging  sailors  climb  each  quivering  mast ; 
The  ship  no  longer  now  must  stem  the  land. 

And  Hard  a starboard ! ” is  the  last  command. 
While  every  suppliant  voice  to  Heaven  applies, 

The  prow,  swift  wheeling,  to  the  westward  flies : 
Twelve  sailors,  on  the  fore-mast  who  depend. 

High  on  the  platform  of  the  top  ascend. 

F atal  retreat ! for,  while  the  plunging  prow 
Immerges  headlong  in  the  wave  below, 

Down  prest  by  watery  weight  the  bowsprit  bends, 
And  from  above  the  stem  deep-crashing  rends. 
Beneath  her  bow  the  floating  ruins  lie ; 

The  fore-mast  totters,  unsustain’d  on  high ; 

And  now  the  ship,  forelifted  by  the  sea. 

Hurls  the  tall  fabric  backward  o’er  her  lee ; 

While,  in  the  general  wreck,  the  faithful  stay 
Drags  the  main  top-mast  by  the  cap  away. 

Flung  from  the  mast,  the  seamen  strive  in  vain, 
Through  hostile  floods,  their  vessel  to  regain ; 

Weak  hope,  alas ! they  bufiet  long  the  wave. 


112 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[587 


And  grasp  at  life  though  sinking  in  the  grave ; 

Till  all  exhausted,  and  bereft  of  strength, 
Overpower’d  they  yield  to  cruel  fate  at  length ; 

The  burying  waters  close  around  their  head. 

They  sink ! for  ever  number’d  with  the  dead. 

Those  who  remain  the  weather  shrouds  embrace, 
Nor  longer  mourn  their  lost  companions’  case ; 
Transfixt  with  terror  at  the  approaching  doom. 
Self-pity  in  their  breasts  alone  has  room. 

Albert,  and  Rodmond,  and  Palemon,  near 
With  young  Arion,  on  the  mast  appear : 

E’en  they,  amid  the  unspeakable  distress, 

In  every  look  distracting  thoughts  confess ; 

In  every  vein  the  refluent  blood  congeals. 

And  every  bosom  mortal  terror  feels. 

Begirt  with  all  the  horrors  of  the  main 

They  view’d  the  adjacent  shore,  but  view’d  in  vain 

Such  torments  in  the  drear  abodes  of  hell, 

Where  sad  despair  laments  with  rueful  yell. 

Such  torments  agonize  the  damned  breast, 

That  sees  remote  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 

It  comes ! the  dire  catastrophe  draws  near, 
Lash’d  furious  on  by  destiny  severe : 

The  ship  hangs  hovering  on  the  verge  of  death, 
Hell  yawns,  rocks  rise,  and  breakers  roar  beneath 
O yet  confirm  my  heart,  ye  powers  above, 


613] 


CANTO  III. 


113 


This  last  tremendous  shock  of  fate  to  prove  1 
The  tottering  frame  of  reason  jet  sustain, 

Nor  let  this  total  havoc  whirl  m j brain ; 

Since  I,  all  trembling  in  extreme  distress, 

Must  still  the  horrible  result  express. 

In  vain,  alas ! the  sacred  shades  of  jore 
Would  arm  the  mind  with  philosophic  lore ; 

In  vain  they'd  teach  us,  at  the  latest  breath 
To  smile  serene  amid  the  pangs  of  death. 
Immortal  Zeno’s  self  would  trembling  see 
Inexorable  fate  beneath  the  lee ; 

And  Epictetus  at  the  sight,  in  vain 
Attempt  his  stoic  firmness  to  retain. 

Had  Socrates,  for  godlike  virtue  famed. 

And  wisest  of  the  sons  of  men  proclaim’d. 
Spectator  of  such  various  horrors  been. 

E’en  he  had  stagger’d  at  this  dreadful  scene. 

In  vain  the  cords  and  axes  were  prepared. 
For  every  wave  now  smites  the  quivering  yard ; 
High  o’er  the  ship  they  throw  a dreadful  shade, 
Then  on  her  burst  in  terrible  cascade, 

Across  the  founder’d  deck  o’erwhelming  roar. 
And  foaming,  swelling,  bound  upon  the  shore. 
Swift  up  the  mounting  billow  now  she  flies. 

Her  shatter’d  top  half-buried  in  the  skies ; 

Borne  o’er  a latent  reef  the  hull  impends, 

8 


114 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[639 


Then  thundering  on  the  marble  crags  descends. 

Her  ponderous  bulk  the  dire  concussion  feels, 

And  o’er  upheaving  surges  wounded  reels : 

Again  she  plunges  ! hark ! a second  shock 
Bilges  the  splitting  vessel  on  the  rock : 

Down  on  the  vale  of  death,  with  dismal  cries, 

The  fated  victims  shuddering  cast  their  eyes 
In  wild  despair ; while  yet  another  stroke 
With  strong  convulsion  rends  the  solid  oak : 

Ah  Heaven ! — behold  her  crashing  ribs  divide ! 
She  loosens,  parts,  and  spreads  in  ruin  o’er  the  tide. 

Oh,  were  it  mine  with  sacred  Maro’s  art 
To  wake  to  sympathy  the  feeling  heart. 

Like  him,  the  smooth  and  mournful  verse  to  dress 
In  all  the  pomp  of  exquisite  distress ; 

Then,  too  severely  taught  by  cruel  fate 
To  share  in  all  the  perils  I relate. 

Then  might  I,  with  unrivall’d  strains,  deplore 
The  impervious  horrors  of  a leeward  shore. 

As  o’er  the  surf  the  bending  main-mast  hung, 
Still  on  the  rigging  thirty  seamen  clung : 

Some  on  a broken  crag  were  struggling  cast, 

Ajid  there  by  oozy  tangles  grappled  fast ; 

Awhile  they  bore  the  o’erwhelming  billows’  rage. 
Unequal  combat  with  their  fate  to  wage ; 

Till  all  benumb’d,  and  feeble,  they  forego 


665J 


CANTO  III. 


115 


Their  slippery  hold,  and  sink  to  shades  below : 
Some,  from  the  main-yard-arm  impetuous  thrown 
On  marble  ridges,  die  without  a groan : 

Three  with  Palemon  on  their  skill  depend. 

And  from  the  wreck  on  oars  and  rafts  descend ; 
Now  on  the  mountain- wave  on  high  they  ride. 

Then  downward  plunge  beneath  the  involving  tide ; 
Till  one,  who  seems  in  agony  to  strive. 

The  wliirling  breakers  heave  on  shore  alive : 

The  rest  a speedier  end  of  anguish  knew. 

And  prest  the  stony  beach  — a lifeless  crew  ! 

Next,  0 unhappy  chief,  the  eternal  doom 
Of  Heaven  decreed  thee  to  the  briny  tomb. 

What  scenes  of  misery  torment  thy  view ! 

What  painful  struggles  of  thy  dying  crew  ! 

Thy  perish’d  hopes  all  buried  in  the  flood 
O’erspread  with  corses,  red  with  human  blood ! 

So  pierced  with  anguish  hoary  Priam  gazed. 

When  Troy’s  imperial  domes  in  ruin  blazed ; 

While  he,  severest  sorrow  doom’d  to  feel. 

Expired  beneath  the  victor’s  murdering  steel. 

Thus  with  his  helpless  partners  to  the  last. 

Sad  refuge ! Albert  grasps  the  floating  mast. 

His  soul  could  yet  sustain  this  mortal  blow, 

But  droops,  alas  ! beneath  superior  woe  ; 

For  now  strong  nature’s  sympathetic  chain 


116 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[691 


Tugs  at  his  yearning  heart  with  powerful  strain. 

His  faithful  wife,  for  ever  doom’d  to  mourn 
For  him,  alas ! who  never  shall  return. 

To  black  adversity’s  approach  exposed, 

With  want,  and  hardships  unforeseen  enclosed  — 
His  lovely  daughter,  left  without  a friend 
Her  innocence  to  succour  and  defend. 

By  youth  and  indigence  set  forth  a prey 
To  lawless  guilt,  that  flatters  to  betray  — 

While  these  reflections  rack  his  feeling  mind, 
Rodmond,  who  hung  beside,  his  grasp  resign’d ; 

And,  as  the  tumbling  waters  o’er  him  roll’d. 

His  outstretch’d  arms  the  master’s  legs  enfold. 

Sad  Albert  feels  their  dissolution  near. 

And  strives  in  vain  his  fetter’d  limbs  to  clear. 

For  death  bids  every  clenching  joint  adhere: 

All  faint,  to  Heaven  he  throws  his  dying  eyes. 

And,  “ Oh  protect  my  wife  and  child ! ” he  cries : 

The  gushing  streams  roll  back  the  unfinish’d  sound, 
He  gasps,  and  sinks  amid  the  vast  profound. 

Five  only  left  of  all  the  shipwreck’d  throng 
Yet  ride  the  mast  which  shoreward  drives  along ; 
With  these  Arion  still  his  hold  secures. 

And  all  assaults  of  hostile  waves  endures.  ' 

O’er  the  dire  prospect  as  for  life  he  strives, 

He  looks  if  poor  Palemon  yet  survives : 


717] 


CANTO  III. 


117 


^ Ah  wherefore,  trusting  to  unequal  art, 

Didst  thou,  incautious ! from  the  wreck  depart  ? 
Alas ! these  rocks  all  human  skill  defy ; 

Who  strikes  them  once,  beyond  relief  must  die : 
And  now  sore  wounded,  thou  perhaps  art  tost 
On  these,  or  in  some  oozy  cavern  lost.  ” 

Thus  thought  Arion ; anxious  gazing  round 
In  vain,  his  eyes  no  more  Palemon  found. 

The  demons  of  destruction  hover  nigh. 

And  thick  their  mortal  shafts  commission’d  fly : 
When  now  a breaking  surge,  with  forceful  sway. 
Two,  next  Arion,  furious  tears  away. 

Hurl’d  on  the  crags,  behold  they  gasp,  they  bleed, 
And  groaning,  cling  upon  the  elusive  weed ! 
Another  billow  bursts  in  boundless  roar, — 

Arion  smks ! and  memory  views  no  more. 

Ha ! total  night  and  horror  here  preside  ; 

My  stunn’d  ear  tingles  to  the  whizzing  tide ; 

It  is  their  funeral  knell ! and  gliding  near 
Methinks  the  phantoms  of  the  dead  appear. 

But  lo ! emerging  from  the  watery  grave. 

Again  they  float  incumbent  on  the  wave, 

A^gain  the  dismal  prospect  opens  round,  — 

The  wreck,  the  shore,  the  dying,  and  the  drown’d! 
And  see ! enfeebled  by  repeated  shocks. 

Those  two,  who  scramble  on  the  adjacent  rocks, 


118 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[743 


TlieirTaithless  hold  no  longer  can  retain, 

They  sink  overwhelm’d ! and  never  rise  again. 

Two  with  Arion  yet  the  mast  upbore, 

That  now  above  the  ridges  reach’d  the  shore. 

Still  trembling  to  descend,  they  downward  gaze 
With  horror  pale,  and  torpid  with  amaze : 

The  floods  recoil ! the  ground  appears  below ! 

And  life’s  faint  embers  now  rekindling  glow. 
Awhile  they  wait  the  exhausted  waves’  retreat. 
Then  climb  slow  up  the  beach  with  hands  and  feet: 
0 Heaven ! deliver’d  by  whose  sovereign  hand. 
Still  on  destruction’s  brink  they  shuddering  stand, 
Keceive  the  languid  incense  they  bestow. 

That,  damp  with  death,  appears  not  yet  to  glow. 
To  thee  each  soul  the  warm  oblation  pays 
With  trembling  ardour  of  unequal  praise ; 

In  every  heart  dismay  with  wonder  strives. 

And  hope  the  sicken’d  spark  of  life  revives ; 

Her  magic  powers  their  exiled  health  restore. 

Till  horror  and  despair  are  felt  no  more. 

Roused  by  the  blustering  tempest  of  the  night, 

A troop  of  Grecians  mount  Colonna’s  height ; 
When,  gazing  down  with  horror  on  the  flood, 

Full  to  their  view  the  scene  of  ruin  stood  — 

The  surf  with  mangled  bodies  strew’d  around, 

And  those  yet  breathing  on  the  sea-wash’d  ground* 


769] 


CANTO  III. 


119 


Though  lost  to  science  and  the  nobler  arts, 

Yet  nature’s  lore  inform’d  their  feeling  hearts ; 

Strait  down  the  vale  with  hastening  steps  they  hied, 
The  unhappy  sufferers  to  assist  and  guide. 

Meanwhile,  those  three  escaped  beneath  explore 
The  first  adventurous  youth  who  reach’d  the  shore : 
Panting,  with  eyes  averted  from  the  day. 

Prone,  helpless,  on  the  tangly  beach  he  lay. — 

It  is  Palemon  ! oh,  what  tumults  roll 
With  hope  and  terror  in  Arion’s  soul — • 

If  yet  unhurt  he  lives  again  to  view 
His  friend,  and  this  sole  remnant  of  our  crew. 

With  us  to  travel  through  this  foreign  zone. 

And  share  the  future  good  or  ill  unknown  ! ” 

Arion  thus ; but  ah,  sad  doom  of  fate ! 

That  bleeding  memory  sorrows  to  relate, 

While  yet  afloat,  on  some  resisting  rock 
His  ribs  were  dash’d,  and  fractured  with  the  shock. 
Heart-piercing  sight ! those  cheeks  so  late  array’d 
In  beauty’s  bloom,  are  pale  with  mortal  shade ; 
Distilling  blood  his  lovely  breast  o’erspread. 

And  clogg’d  the  golden  tresses  of  his  head : 

Nor  yet  the  lungs  by  this  pernicious  stroke 
Were  wounded,  or  the  vocal  organs  broke. 

Down  from  his  neck,  with  blazing  gems  array’d. 

Thy  image,  lovely  Anna ! hung  portray’d  ; 


1 


120  THE  SHIPWRECK. 

The  unconscious  figure,  smiling  all  serene, 
Suspended  in  a golden  chain  was  seen : 

Hadst  thou,  soft  maiden ! in  this  hour  of  woe 
Beheld  him  writhing  from  the  deadly  blow, 
What  force  of  art,  what  language  could  express 
Thine  agony,  thine  exquisite  distress  ? 

But  thou,  alas  ! art  doom’d  to  weep  in  vain 
For  him  thine  eyes  shall  never  see  again. 

With  dumb  amazement  pale,  Arion  gazed. 

And  cautiously  the  wounded  youth  upraised ; 
Palemon  then,  with  equal  pangs  opprest. 

In  faltering  accents  thus  his  friend  addrest : — 
O rescued  from  destruction  late  so  nigh, 
Beneath  whose  fatal  influence  doom’d  I lie, 

Are  we  then,  exiled  to  this  last  retreat 
Of  life,  unhappy ! thus  decreed  to  meet  ? 

Ah ! how  unlike  what  yester-morn  enjoy’d. 
Enchanting  hopes ! for  ever  now  destroy’d ; 
For  wounded,  far  beyond  all  healing  power, 
Palemon  dies,  and  this  his  final  hour : 

By  those  fell  breakers,  where  in  vain  I strove, 
At  once  cut  off  from  fortune,  life,  and  love ! 

Far  other  scenes  must  soon  present  my  sight. 
That  lie  deep-buried  yet  in  tenfold  night. — 

Ah ! wretched  father  of  a wretched  son, 

Whom  thy  paternal  prudence  has  undone. 


[795 


121 


821]  CANTO  III. 

How  will  remembrance  of  this  blinded  care 
Bend  down  thy  head  with  anguish,  and  despair  1 
Such  dire  effects  from  avarice  arise, 

That,  deaf  to  nature’s  voice,  and  vainly  wise. 

With  force  severe  endeavours  to  control 
The  noblest  passions  that  inspire  the  soul. 

But,  O thou  sacred  power,  whose  law  connects 
The  eternal  chain  of  causes  and  effects. 

Let  not  thy  chastening  ministers  of  rage 
Afflict  with  sharp  remorse  his  feeble  age ! 

And  you,  Arion ! who  with  these,  the  last 
Of  all  our  crew,  survive  the  shipwreck  past. 

Ah ! cease  to  mourn,  those  friendly  tears  restrain. 
Nor  give  my  dying  moments  keener  pain ! 

Since  heaven  may  soon  thy  wandering  steps  restore. 
When  parted  hence,  to  England’s  distant  shore ; 
Shouldst  thou,  the  unwilling  messenger  of  fate, 

To  him  the  tragic  story  first  relate ; 

Oh ! friendship’s  generous  ardour  then  suppress, 

Nor  hint  the  fatal  cause  of  my  distress ; 

Nor  let  each  horrid  incident  sustain 
The  lengthen’d  tale  to  aggravate  his  pain. 

Ah ! then  remember  well  my  last  request 
For  her  who  reigns  for  ever  in  my  breast ; 

Yet  let  him  prove  a father  and  a friend. 

The  helpless  maid  to  succour  and  defend: 


122 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


1847 


Say,  I this  suit  implored  with  parting  breath, 

So  Heaven  befriend  him  at  his  hour  of  death ! 

But  oh ! to  lovely  Anna  shouldst  thou  tell 
What  dire  untimely  end  thy  friend  befell, 

Draw  o’er  the  dismal  scene  soft  pity’s  veil, 

And  lightly  touch  the  lamentable  tale. 

Say  that  my  love,  inviolably  true, 

No  change,  no  diminution  ever  knew ; 

Lo  ! her  bright  image  pendent  on  my  neck 
Is  all  Palemon  rescued  from  the  wreck ; 

Take  it,  and  say,  when  panting  in  the  wave 
I struggled  life  and  this  alone  to  save. 

My  soul,  that  fluttering  hastens  to  be  free. 
Would  yet  a train  of  thoughts  impart  to  thee. 

But  strives  in  vain ; the  chilling  ice  of  death 
Congeals  my  blood,  and  chokes  the  stream  of 
breath. 

Resign’d,  she  quits  her  comfortless  abode 
To  course  that  long,  unknown,  eternal  road  — 

O sacred  source  of  ever-living  light ! 

Conduct  the  weary  wanderer  in  her  flight : 

Direct  her  onward  to  that  peaceful  shore 
Where  peril,  pain,  and  death  prevail  no  more. 

“ When  thou  some  tale  of  hapless  love  shalt  hear, 
That  steals  from  pity’s  eye  the  melting  tear. 

Of  two  chaste  hearts,  by  mutual  passion  join’d, 


872] 


CANTO  III. 


123 


To  absence,  sorrow,  and  despair  consign’d ; 

Oh ! then,  to  swell  the  tides  of  social  woe 
That  heal  the  afflicted  bosom  they  o’erflow, 

While  memory  dictates,  this  sad  shipwreck  tell, 
And  what  distress  thy  wretched  friend  befell. 

Then,  while  in  streams  of. soft  compassion  drown’d, 
The  swains  lament,  and  maidens  weep  around ; 
While  lisping  children,  touch’d  with  infant  fear, 
With  wonder  gaze,  and  drop  the  unconscious  tear ; 
Oh ! then  this  moral  bid  their  souls  retain. 

All  thoughts  of  happiness  on  earth  are  vain ! ” 

The  last  faint  accents  trembled  on  his  tongue, 
That  now  inactive  to  the  palate  clung ; 

His  bosom  heaves  a mortal  groan  — he  dies ! 

And  shades  eternal  sink  upon  his  eyes. 

As  thus  defaced  in  death  Palemon  lay, 

Arion  gazed  upon  the  lifeless  clay ; 

Transfix’d  he  stood,  with  awful  terror  fill’d. 

While  aown  his  cheek  the  silent  drops  distill’d: 

“ O ill-starr’d  votary  of  unspotted  truth. 
Untimely  perish’d  in  the  bloom  of  youth, 

Should  e’er  thy  friend  arrive  on  Albion’s  land, 

He  will  obey,  though  painful,  thy  command  ! 

His  tongue  the  dreadful  story  shall  display. 

And  all  the  horrors  of  this  dismal  day. 

Disastrous  day ! what  ruin  hast  thou  bred. 


12jL 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


[898 


What  anguish  to  the  living  and  the  dead ! 

How  hast  thou  left  the  widow  all  forlorn, 

And  ever  doom’d  the  orphan  child  to  mourn, 
Tlirough  life’s  sad  journey  hopeless  to  complain ! 
Can  sacred  justice  these  events  ordain  ? 

But,  O my  soul ! avoid  that  wondrous  maze 
Where  reason,  lost  in  endless  error,  strays ; 

As  through  this  thorny  vale  of  life  we  run. 

Great  Cause  of  all  effects,  thy  will  be  done ! ” 
Now  had  the  Grecians  on  the  beach  arrived, 
To  aid  the  helpless  few  who  yet  survived : 

Wliile  passing,  they  behold  the  waves  o’erspread 
With  shatter’d  rafts  and  corses  of  the  dead ; 
Three  still  alive,  benumb’d  and  faint  they  find. 
In  mournful  silence  on  a rock  reclined. 

The  generous  natives,  moved  with  social  pain, 
The  feeble  strangers  in  their  arms  sustain ; 

With  pitying  sighs  their  hapless  lot  deplore. 

And  lead  them  trembling  from  the  fatal  shore. 


OCCASIONAL  ELEGY, 


UT  WHICH  THE  PRECEDING  NARRATIVE  IS  CONCLUDED. 

The  scene  of  death  is  closed ! the  mournful  strains 
Dissolve  in  dying  languor  on  the  ear ; 

Yet  pity  weeps,  yet  sympathy  complains, 

And  dumb  suspense  awaits  o’erwhelm’d  with  fear. 

But  the  sad  Muses  with  prophetic  eye 
At  once  the  future  and  the  past  explore ; 

Their  harps  oblivion’s  influence  can  defy, 

And  waft  the  spirit  to  the  eternal  shore. 

Then,  O Palemon  ! if  thy  shade  can  hear  ^ 

The  voice  of  friendship  still  lament  thy  doom, 

Yet  to  the  sad  oblations  bend  thine  ear, 

That  rise  in  vocal  incense  o’er  thy  tomb. 

From  young  Ajrion  first  the  news  received, 

With  terror,  pale  unhappy  Anna  read ; 

With  inconsolable  distress  she  grieved, 

And  from  her  cheek  the  rose  of  beauty  fled. 


126 


ELEGY. 


In  vain,  alas ! the  gentle  virgin  wept ; 

Corrosive  anguish  nipt  her  vital  bloom ; 

O’er  her  soft  frame  diseases  sternly  crept, 

And  gave  the  lovely  victim  to  the  tomb. 

A longer  date  of  woo,  the  widow’d  wife 
Her  lamentable  lot  afflicted  bore ; 

Yet  both  were  rescued  from  the  chains  of  life 
Before  Arion  reach’d  his  native  shore ! 

The  father  unrelenting  phrenzy  stung. 

Untaught  in  virtue’s  school  distress  to  bear ; 
Severe  remorse  his  tortured  bosom  wrung. 

He  languish’d,  groan’d,  and  perish’d  in  despair. 

Ye  lost  companions  of  distress,  adieu ! . 

Your  toils,  and  pains,  and  dangers  are  no  more ; 
The  tempest  now  shall  howl  unheard  by  you. 
While  ocean  smites  in  vain  the  trembling  shore. 

On  you  the  blast,  surcharged  with  rain  and  snow. 

In  winter’s  dismal  nights  no  more  shall  beat ; 
Unfelt  by  you  the  vertic  sun  may  glow. 

And  scorch  the  panting  earth  with  baneful  heat. 

No  more  the  joyful  maid,  with  sprightly  strain, 
Shall  wake  the  dance  to  give  you  welcome  home 


ELEGY. 


127 


Nor  hopeless  love;  impart  undying  pain. 

When  far  from  scenes  of  social  joy  you  roam. 

No  more  on  yon  wide  watery  waste  you  stray, 
While  hunger  and  disease  your  life  consume ; 

While  parching  thirst,  that  burns  without  allay, 
Forbids  the  blasted  rose  of  health  to  bloom. 

No  more  you  feel  contagion’s  mortal  breath. 

That  taints  the  realms  with  misery  severe ; 

No  more  behold  pale  famine,  scattering  death. 

With  cruel  ravage  desolate  the  year.  ^ 

The  thundering  drum,  the  trumpet’s  swelling  strain. 
Unheard,  shall  form  the  long  embattled  line : 

Unheard,  the  deep  foundations  of  the  main 
Shall  tremble,  when  the  hostile  squadrons  join. 

Since  grief,  fatigue,  and  hazards  still  molest 
The  wandering  vassals  of  the  faithless  deep, 

Oh  happier,  now  escaped  to  endless  rest. 

Than  we  who  still  survive  to  wake  and  weep ! 

What,  though  no  funeral  pomp,  no  borrow’d  tear. 
Your  hour  of  death  to  gazing  crowds  shall  tell ; 

Nor  weeping  friends  attend  your  sable  bier. 

Who  sadly  hsten  to  the  passing  bell  ? 


128 


ELEGY. 


The  tutor’d  sigh,  the  vain  parade  of  woe, 

No  real  anguish  to  the  soul  impart ; 

And  oft,  alas  ! the  tear  that  friends  bestow 
Belies  the  latent  feelings  of  the  heart. 

What,  though  no  sculptured  pile  your  name  displays, 
Like  those  who  perish  in  their  country’s  cause ; 

What,  though  no  epic  muse  in  living  lays 

Records  your  dreadful  daring  with  applause? 

Full  oft  the  flattering  marble  bids  renown 

With  blazon’d  trophies  deck  the  spotted  name ; 

And  oft,  too  oft,  the  venal  Muses  crown 
The  slaves  of  vice  with  never-dying  fame. 

Yet  shall  remembrance  from  oblivion’s  veil 
Relieve  your  scene,  and  sigh  with  grief  sincere ; 

And  soft  compassion  at  your  tragic  tale 
In  silent  tribute  pay  her  kindred  tear. 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Page  5,  line  3.  While  Albion  lids^  &c. 

In  the  third  edition,  the  beauty  of  the  third  and  fourth  line 
has  been  gi*eatly  injured:  — 

“ AVTiile  ocean  hears  vindictive  thunders  roll 
Along  his  trembling  wave  from  pole  to  pole.” 

The  wave  of  ocean  cannot  be  said  to  tremble : all  editions  subse- 
quent to  the  third,  render  this  alteration  still  more  improper  by 
reading  “ trembling  waves.” 


P.  5,  1.  12.  Than  ever  trembled  from  the  vocal 
string. 

In  the  third  edition,  the  following  unequal  lines  were  intro- 
dnced  after  the  above  passage : — 

“ No  pomp  of  battle  swells  the  exalted  strain, 

Nor  gleaming  arms  ring  dreadful  on  the  plain; 

But  o’er  the  scene  while  pale  remembrance  weeps, 

Fate  with  fell  triumph  rides  upon  the  deeps.” 

9' 


130 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  5,  1.  13.  A scene  from  dumb  oblivion  to  restor§. 

In  this  passage,  as  in  some  others,  the  third  edition  claims  a 
preference.  In  the  second,  the  lines  ran  thus : — 

“To  paint  a scene  yet  strange  to  epic  lore. 

Whose  desert  soil  no  laurel  ever  bore.” 


P.  5, 1.  19.  Immortal  train^  &c. 

This  passage  is  also  improved  in  the  third  edition.  It  previ- 
ously had  been  thus  expressed:  — 

“Ye  all  recording  Nine ! whose  sacred  strains 
With  sweet  enchantment  charm  Elysian  plains ; 

Whose  golden  trumpets,  fraught  with  endless  fame, 

Arts,  arms,  and  heroes  to  all  space  proclaim.” 

The  two  succeeding  lines  are  very  beautiful.  Though  omitted 
in  the  third  edition,  I have  ventured  to  restore  them,  with  many 
others  of  similar  merit:— 

“ Or  in  lamenting  elegies  express 
The  varied  pang  of  exquisite  distress.” 

P.  6,  1.  29.  Or  listen  to  the  enchanting  voice  of 
love. 

The  whole  of  the  beautiful  passage  from  “ If  e’er  with  trem- 
ling  hope,”  to  “ Whose  vaults  remurmur  to  the  roaring  wave,” 
was  added  in  the  third  edition : but  an  error,  either  of  the  press, 
or  of  the  author,  is  evident  in  the  above  line,  as  it  is  generally 
printed : — 

“ Or  listen,  while  the  enchanting  voice  of  love.” 

Mr.  Bowles  suggested  the  reading  which  I have  followed : Mr 
Pocock,  to  whose  taste  I am  greatly  indebted,  rather  prefers  “ Or 
listened  — ” 


TO  THE  INTRODUCTION. 


131 


P.  6, 1.  31.  Oh  ! hy  the  hollow  blast. 

The  solemn  cadence,  the  impressive  tones,  and  the  judicious 
contrast  of  imagery,  “If  e’er  with  trembling  hope,”  &c.  and 
“Oh!  by  the  hollow  blast  that  moans  around,”  are  peculiarly 
calculated  to  awake  attention,  and  are  conceived  in  the  genuine 
spirit  of  poetic  taste.  There  are  indeed  a few  verbal  inaccu- 
racies in  this  Introduction;  such  as  — “The  trumpet’s  breath 
bids  ruin  smile,”  which  perhaps  would  have  been  better  ex- 
pressed, “The  trumpet’s  breath  bids  havoc  on:”  but  the  whole 
is  finely  worked  up ; and,  like  a grand  overture,  prepares  the 
mind  of  the  reader  for  what  follows.  W.  L.  B. 

This  remark  of  my  friend  is  so  just,  that,  in  consequence  of  it, 
I was  induced  to  print  the  Introduction  by  itself,  in  order  to  ren- 
der its  effect  more  striking.  It  hitherto  has  been  printed  with 
the  Narrative,  or  only  separated  by  a line ; and  consequently  has 
lost  much  of  its  exquisite  beauty. 

P.  6,  1.  32.  That  sweeps  the  wild  harp  with  a 
plaintive  sound. 

The -^olian  harp:  see  Thomson,  Castle  of  Indolence,  i.  40,  41. 
This  thought,  so  beautifully  expressed,  seems  not  only  suggested 
by  the  iEolian  harp,  but  by  the  hollow  sound  of  a southerly 
wind;  the  dread  of  seamen  in  many  climates,  especially  in  the 
British  Channel,  as  it  is  always  attended  with  rain,  and  great 
obscurity,  which  increases  with  tlie  storm,  and  renders  the  coast 
of  Ireland,  England,  and  South  Wales,  a dangerous  lee-shore. 
On  land,  the  peasants  call  it  a high  wind,  i.  e.  one  that  sounds 
hollow  and  high.  Seamen  know  its  knell;  and  a shift  ot  wind 
may  be  expected  to  follow  from  the  west,  or  N.  W.,  which  blows 
.ow,  being  a counter  current  of  air,  furious  in  the  extreme;  and 
this  causes  the  hollow  sound  before  the  gale  is  felt.  N.  P. 

The  learned  reader  may  wish  to  be  reminded  of  a curious  pas- 
sage in  Hoffman’s  Lexicon  Universale,  published  upwards  of  150 
years  ago,  relative  to  the  iEolian  harp.  It  is  cited  in  the  Gentle- 


132 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


man’s  Magazine,  vol.  xxiv.  p.  174 , and  the  following  lines  are 
added : — 


Salve,  quoe  fingis  proprio  modulamine  carmen, 

Salve,  Memnoniam  vox  imitata  lyram ! 

Dulce,  0 ! divinumque  sonas  sine  pollicis  ictu, 

Dives  naturije  simplicis,  artis  inops ! 

Talia  qua3  incultoe  dant  mellea  labra  puelloe, 

Talia  sunt  faciles  quae  modulantur  aves ! ” 

P.  6, 1.  41.  Ah  ! will  they  leave,  &:c. 

An  idea  somewhat  similar  occurs  in  Ariosto  (C.  46,  stanza  17) 
on  the  subject  of  the  piscatorial  poesy  of  Sannazaro:  — 

“ Jacopo  Sannazar,  che  alle  Camene 
Lasciar  fa  i monti  ed  abitar  le  arene.” 

F.  D. 

P.  7,  1.  52.  A ship-boy  on  the  high  and  giddy  mast! 

The  passage  in  Shakspeare’s  Henry  the  Fourth,  Pt.  II.  Act  3, 
whence  this  line  is  taken,  is  always  deeply  impressed  on  a sea- 
man’s mind:  — 

“ Wilt  thou,  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast, 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy’s  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 
In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge; 

And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds. 

Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 

Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 
With  deaf’ning  clamours  in  the  slippery  shrouds. 

That, with  the  hurly,  death  itself  awakes? 

Canst  thou,  0 partial  Sleep,  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude, 

And,  in  the  calmest  and  the  stillest  night. 

With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot. 

Deny  it  to  a king?  Then  happy  low,  lie  down ! 

Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a crown.” 


TO  THE  INTRODUCTION. 


133 


P.  8, 1.  72.  Till  cier  her  crew  distress  and  death 
'prevail. 

In  the  eleven  lines  that  succeed,  I have  followed  the  second 
edition.  In  the  third,  the  author  very  inadvertently  introduced 
the  following:  — 

“ Where’er  he  wander’d,  thus  vindictive  fate 
Pursued  his  weary  steps  with  lasting  hate: 

Roused  by  her  mandate,  storms  of  black  array 
Winter’d  the  morn  of  life’s  advancing  day; 

Relax’d  the  sinews  of  the  living  lyre. 

And  quench’d  the  kindling  spark  of  vital  fire. 

Thus  while  forgotten,  or  unknown,  he  wooes, 

What  hope  to  win  the  coy  reluctant  Muse?  ” 

These  lines  strongly  savour  of  fatalism,  and  are  unworthy  of  a 
British  mariner.  The  minds  of  our  mariners  (I  speak  from  ex- 
perience), with  very  few  exceptions,  always  display  a high  sense 
of  Christianity,  and  a belief  in  an  over-ruling  Providence:  a 
truth  which  I have  endeavoured  to  support,  throughout  the 
whole  of  a publication,  which  the  public  has  honoured  with 
attention,  entitled  Sermons  on  the  Character  and  Professional 
Duties  of  Seamen.  When  Falconer  published  the  third  edition, 
his  temper  was  soured  by  disappointment ; and,  in  this  instance, 
he  forgot  the  principles  of  a Christian  Mariner. 

P.  8,  1.  83.  And  lo!  the  power  that  wakes  the 
eventful  song. 

I had  prefen*ed  the  following  text,  as  given  in  the  first  and 
second  editions ; but,  in  deference  to  a friend,  whose  poetic  taste 
has  been  long  approved,  I followed  the  third  edition:  although 
the  repetition  of  light,  as  a rhj^me,  in  the  fourth  and  thirteenth 
line,  has  certainly  a bad  eficct.  As  ^Ir.  Bowles  also  observes, 
“the  epithet  propitious  is  too  tame:  it  should  have  been  instant 
light.”  The  passage  stood  thus  originally:  — 


134 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Thee  Memory ! too,  the  tragic  tale  implores, 

Arise!  approach!  unlock  thy  treasured  stores !” — 

“ She  comes  confest,  auspicious  to  the  sight, 

O’er  all  my  soul  diffusing  sacred  light: 

Serenely  mild  her  look ; around  her  head 
Refulgent  wreaths  of  azure  glory  spread. 

Her  radiant  wings, like  Iris’  flaming  bow. 

With  various  hues  in  rich  profusion  glow: 

With  these,  along  the  immensity  of  space. 

She  scours  the  rapid,  intellectual  race.  ” &c. 

P.  9, 1.  100.  And  hoary  time^from  her,  fresh  youth 
receives. 

The  classic  ideas  of  our  unfortunate  mariner  in  many  instances 
resemble  those  of  the  Italian  poets:  thus  Tasso,  when  speaking 
of  memory,  exclaims  (C.  1,  st.  36):  — 

“ Mente,  degli  anni  e dell’  obblio  nemica, 

Delle  cose  custode  e dispensiera.”  F.  D. 

P.  9,  1.  113.  Fidl  on  my  soul  the  dreadful  scene 
display. 

This  and  the  following  line  were  unaccountably  omitted  in  the 
third  edition. 


CANTO  1. 


P.  13,  1.  1. 

A ship  from  Egypt,  d^er  the  deep  impeWd 
By  guiding  winds,  her  course  for  Venice  held. 
Falc  jnei  begins  his  narrative  with  all  the  simplicity  of  the 


TO  CANTO  L 


135 


great  masters,  and  seems  to  have  had  in  view  the  opening  of  the 
^neid:  — 

Trojae  qui  primns  ab  oris 
Italiam,  fato  profugus,  Lavinaque  venit 
Littora: 

I have  followed  in  the  first  four  lines  the  third  edition ; m the 
second, it  was  thus  expressed:  — 

“A  ship  from  Eg5q)t,  o’er  the  watery  plain 
Design’d  her  course  to  Adria’s  rich  domain; 

From  fair  Britannia’s  isle  derived  her  name, 

And  thence  her  crew,  the  slaves  of  Fortune,  came.” 

I was  not  fond  of  styling  seamen  “ the  slaves  of  fortime ! ” 


P.  14, 1.  17.  Thrice  had  the  sun^  8cc. 

How  admirably,  yet  naturally,  is  the  whole  of  what  follows  In 
this  and  the  next  page  contrived,  towards  engaging  the  attention 
of  the  reader,  and  leading  it  gradually  on  to  the  great  event  of 
the  poem ! I have  in  part  preferred  the  text  of  the  second  edition. 


P.  14, 1.  21.  from  shore  to  shore 

Unwearying  wafted  her  commercial  store. 

The  British  merchantmen,  at  the  time  this  poem  was  written, 
and  for  a considerable  time  afterwards,  remained  trading  from 
port  to  port  in  the  Levant  and  Mediterranean,  until  ordered  for 
England;  when  they  generally  loaded  with  silks  at  Leghorn. 

The  length  of  time  to  which  these  voyages  were  extended 
probably  arose  from  the  respect  paid  to  the  British  flag,  and  the 
Mediterranean  pass.  Any  British  ship,  though  worn  and  crazy, 
sold  for  a considerable  sum  to  the  Genoese,  or  other  neighbour- 
ing states,  if  the  pass  could  also  accompany  the  ship.  This  traflSc 
at  last  caused  some  complaints,  and  is  now  impracticable.  The 
pass  must  be  returned  to  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty. 


136 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Mr.  Eton,  in  his  Survey  of  the  Turkish  Empire,  treats  at  large 
on  the  state  of  the  British  trade  to  the  Levant  (page  448,  3d 
edit.),  and  assigns  four  causes  for  its  gradual  decline.  1.  The 
rivalship  of  other  European  nations.  2.  The  diminution  of  the 
consumption  of  our  manufactures  in  Turkey,  by  the  impover- 
ished state  of  the  country.  8.  Some  branches  of  trade  being  got 
into  other  channels.  4.  The  monopoly  of  the  Levant  Company 
in  London. 

P.  15,  1.  51.  The  haven  enter ^ &c. 

The  harbour  of  Candia,  though  naturally  a fine  basin,  in  which 
ships  were  securely  sheltered  from  every  wind,  is  described  by 
Tournefort,  in  1718,  as  capable  of  receiving  nothing  but  boats. 
Ships  of  burden  keep  under  the  isle  of  Dia,  or  Standia,  to  the  N. 
E.  of  Candia;  and  consequently  that  was  the  anchorage  to  which 
Falconer  alludes.  All  merchant  vessels  freighted  by  the  Turks 
at  Candia  are  obliged  to  sail  almost  empty  to  the  ports  of  Dia, 
whither  their  cargoes  are  conveyed  in  boats.  The  French  mer- 
chants have  in  consequence  taken  up  their  residence  at  Canea ; 
but  even  there  the  harbour  will  only  receive  ships  of  200  tons  bur- 
den, and  its  mouth  is  exposed  to  all  the  violence  of  the  north  winds ; 
its  bottom,  however,  is  good,  except  to  the  west  of  the  town, 
where  there  are  several  rocks  under  water  extremely  dangerous. 
The  harbour  of  Canea  might  be  enlarged  so  as  to  admit  the  larg- 
est frigates.  The  chief  revenue  of  Canea  consists  in  olive  oil. 
According  to  Tournefort,  the  island  of  Candia  in  the  year  1699, 
yielded  300,000  measures  of  oil,  which  the  French  merchants 
Durchased,  on  account  of  the  failure  of  oils  in  Provence. 

P,  15,  1.  54.  Mark  the  fell  track  of  desolating 
war. 

The  revolutions  of  this  celebrated  island  may  thus  be  briefly 
given.  It  received  the  name  of  Candia  from  the  Saracens  about 
the  year  808,  when  they  subdued  it,  after  being  repulsed  in  their 
attempts  on  the  islands  of  Sardinia  and  Corsica  by  the  maritime 


TO  CANTO  I. 


137 


counts  whom  Charlemagne  appointed,  under  the  title  of  Comites 
ad  custodiendam  Oram  Maritimam  deputati.  This  island  was 
afterwards  annexed  to  the  Greek  empire,  either  under  Romanus 
the  First  in  961,  or  as  others  think,  under  Nicephoinis  Phocas  in  9G4. 
When  the  Emperor  Alexis  was  murdered,  and  Baldwin  was 
crowned,  Candia  passed,  in  1204,  from  Boniface  Marquis  of 
Montserrat  to  the  Venetians,  who  had  assisted  in  that  great 
revolution;  and  from  them  it  came  to  the  Turks  after  the 
memorable  war  which  lasted  nearly  thirty  years.  The  siege 
commenced  in  1646,  and  on  the  fourth  of  October,  1670,  the 
Grand  Vizier  entered  Cardia;  which  answers  to  what  Falconer 
afterwards  says  (page  27,  1.  351):  — 

“ Where  late  thrice  fiftj^  thousand  wamors  bled: 

Full  twice  twelve  summers  were  yon  towers  assail’d.” 

The  Venetians,  however,  retained  three  fortresses  a considera- 
ble time  afterwards  — Sudae,  Grabusa,  and  Spina-Longaea.  Eng- 
lish merchant  vessels  resorted  to  Candia  about  the  year  1522; 
since  (according  to  Rjoner’s  Foedera,  vol.  xiii.  page  766)  we  find 
that  Henry  VIIL  then  appointed  Censio  de  Balhazari  (resident 
on  the  island)  for  life,  governor,  master,  protector,  or  consul  of 
the  English  nation  there. 

P.  15, 1.  63.  Ah!  who  the  flight  of  ages  can  re- 
volce  ? 

This  idea  is  more  forcibly  expressed  by  Falconer  than  even  by 
Metastasio:  — 

“L’eta,che  viene  e fugge, 

E non  ritorna  piu F.  D. 


P.  16, 1.  74. 

These  eyes  have  seen  the  dull  reluctant  soil 
A seventh  year  mock  the  weary  labourer's  toil. 

So  correct  is  Falconer  in  this  description  of  the  state  of  Can- 
dia, that  it  almost  is  word  for  word  what  M.  Olivier  of  the 


138 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


National  Institute  has  lately  published : “ Far  from  the  rod  of  the 
Turks,  and  under  the  shield  of  their  privileges,  the  Greeks  of  the 
islands  of  the  Archipelago,  assured  of  being  able  to  enjoy,  to  a 
certain  degree,  the  fmit  of  their  labours,  in  general  cultivate 
their  fields,  or  apply  themselves  to  some  industry  with  sufficient 
ardour  and  intelligence.  But  in  Crete,  exposed  incessantly  to 
see  their  crops  taken  away  from  them  by  the  Aga;  to  be  stripped 
of  their  property  by  the  Pacha ; to  be  insulted,  cudgelled,  and 
robbed  by  eveiy  Janizaiy;  the  cultivators  are  never  inclined  to 
snatch  from  the  earth,  by  an  increase  of  labour,  a produce  which 
they  would  see  pass  into  the  hands  of  those  whom  they  have  so 
much  reason  to  hate. 

“ The  fields  which  they  cultivate,  planted  by  their  ancestors 
when  a civilized,  industrious,  and  trading  people  (the  Venetians) 
governed  the  island,  and  favoured  agriculture,  are  running  to 
waste  from  day  to  day:  the  olive  tree  perishes;  the  vine  disap- 
pears ; the  soil  is  washed  away  by  the  rains ; yet  these  unfortu- 
nate Greeks,  disheartened  as  they  are,  think  not  of  repairing  the 
damages  which  time  is  incessantly  occasioning  them.  There  is 
nothing  but  the  pressing  want  of  living  and  of  paying  the  taxes, 
that  can  induce  them  to  gather  their  olives,  sow  their  lands,  and 
give  their  attention  to  a few  bees.”  Travels  in  the  Ottoman  Em- 
pire (vol.  ii.  p.  242). 


P.  16. 

This  intermixture  of  historical  reflection  is  very  judicious,  as 
it  relieves  the  uniformity  of  the  subject:  it  was  the  result  of  Fal- 
coner’s natural  feelings,  but  it  exhibits  the  master-hand  of  the 
poet’s  discernment.  W.  L.  B. 

P.  16, 1.  86.  the  sun 

Through  the  bright  Virgin  and  the  Scales  had  run. 

Virgo  is  that  constellation  of  the  zodiac  which  the  sun  enters 
about  the  21st  or  22d  of  August.  Libra,  the  Balance,  or  Scales^ 


TO  CANTO  I. 


139 


was  so  named,  because  when  the  sun  arrives  at  this  constellation, 
which  is  the  time  of  the  autumnal  equinox,  the  days  and  nights 
are  equal,  as  if  weighed  in  a balance.  Falconer  with  great 
judgment  places  the  sun  in  Scorpio;  which  it  is  conjectured  was 
so  named,  since,  when  the  sun  arrives  at  this  constellation,  the 
heavy  gales,  storms,  and  various  maladies  of  autumn  commence. 
The  poet  accordingly  mentions  the  sickening  vapours,  and  ap- 
proaching storms,  which  then  prevailed. 


P.  17, 1.  99.  A captive  fetter'd  to  the  oar  of  gam. 

Falconer  here  appears  to  have  confused  his  characters:  nor 
could  I by  any  reference  to  preceding  editions  correct  it.  Albert 
is  throughout  the  poem  styled  the  master  of  the  ship,  and,  in  the 
very  next  page,  is  represented  as 

the  father  of  his  crew, 

Brave,  liberal,  just! 

Our  author  therefore  must  here  have  alluded  to  what  past  in  thi 
sordid  mind  of  Palemon’s  father,  whom  he  should  have  mor« 
correctly  styled  the  owner  of  the  ship.  The  third  edition  varies 
from  the  text  of  the  second,  which  I have  followed,  yet  does  nol 
in  the  least  remove  the  difficulty,  but,  on  the  contrary,  rather 
augments  it:  — 

“ True  to  his  trust,  when  sacred  honour  calls, 

No  brooding  storm  the  master’s  soul  appalls: 

The  advancing  season  warns  him  to  the  main: 

A captive  fetter’d  to  the  oar  of  gain.” 

P.  17, 1.  114.  This  crowns  the  prosperous  villain 
with  applause. 

Falconer  throughout  too  much  displays  a mind  that  has  beei 
soured  by  adversity.  If  the  prosperous  villain  ever  seems  to  be 
crowned  with  applause  in  this  world,  such  applause  is  only 
deceitful  and  treacherous,  like  the  calm  which  precedes  a 


140 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


stonn.  Armstrong’s  idea  of  the  magic  power  of  gold  was  mox^ 
correct: — 

“ Riches  are  oft  by  guilt  or  baseness  earn’d, 

Or  dealt  by  chance  to  shield  a lucky  knav^e, 

Or  throw  a cruel  sunslnne  on  a fool.” 


P.  17,  1.  118.  This  spreads  with  slaughter d hec 
the  bloody  plain. 

In  this  instance,  as  in  many  others,  Falconer,  or  some  of  hip 
friends,  weakened  in  the  third  edition  the  beauty  and  correctne5 
of  the  original,  viz : — 

“ With  slaughter’d  victims  fills  the  weeping  plain. 

And  smooths  the  furrows  of  the  treacherous  main.” 

A plain,  however  bloody,  cannot  be  said  to  weep;,  nor  can  gold, 
however  powerful,  smooth  the  furrows  of  the  ocean. 


P.  18,  1.  125.  Aboard^  confest  the  father  of  his 
crew. 

The  third  edition,  in  which  many  beautiful  lines  are  added  to 
the  character  of  Albert,  reads  Abroad ! which  spoils  the  whole 
force  of  the  sentence.  There  is  also  a considerable  portion  of 
single-heartedness  attached  to  the  word  aboard,  which,  perhaps, 
few  except  seamen  will  duly  appreciate ; it  showed  that  Albert 
was  the  same  man  on  shore  and  when  walking  his  quarter- 
deck. 


P.  18,  L 128.  Him  science  taught. 

The  character  and  general  information  of  the  captains,  or 
masters,  of  our  merchantmen,  are  not  sufficiently  known : what 
Falconer  here  says  of  Albert,  is  a true  portrait  of  the  majority  of 
them.  I need  not  look  far  among  this  class  of  men  to  find  the 
counterpart  of  Affiert. 


TO  CANTO  I. 


141 


P.  19, 1.  154. 

Wherever  in  amhush  lurk  the  fatal  sands^ 

They  claim  the  danger^  'proud  of  skilfid  hands. 

In  the  coal  trade,  the  course  of  the  numerous  vessels  to 
Iiondon  hung  chiefly  through  difficult  and  dangerous  passages 
between  the  sands,  our  seamen  who  are  employed  in  that  valu- 
able nursery  are  trained  from  the  early  age  of  nine  or  ten  years 
to  heave  the  lead  and  to  take  the  helm ; and  hence  their  supe- 
riority in  those  respects  over  seamen  who  have  only  been  on 
foreign  voyages.  It  was  in  this  school  that  the  circumnavigator 
Cooke  was  formed.  N.  P. 

P.  19, 1.  158.  0*er  bar  and  shelve. 

A bar  is  known,  in  hydrography,  to  be  a mass  of  earth  or  sand 
that  has  been  collected,  by  the  surge  of  the  sea,  at  the  entrance 
of  a river,  or  haven,  so  as  to  render  navigation  difficult,  and  often 
dangerous.  A shelf,  or  shelve,  so  called  from  the  Saxon  schylf,* 
is  a name  given  to  any  dangerous  shallows,  sand-banks,  or  rocks, 
lying  immediately  under  the  surface  of  the  water. 

Falconer. 


P.  20, 1.  175.  While  tardy  justice  slumbers  der  her 
sword. 

Soon  after  Falconer  wrote,  this  grievance  was  considerably 
redressed.  In  the  year  1775,  and  during  the  month  of  April,  John 
Parry,  a person  of  fortune,  was  executed  at  Shrewsbury,  for  hav- 
ing in  1773  plundered  the  wreck  of  the  ship  called  Charm- 
ing Nancy  on  the  coast  of  Anglesea.  Another  person  of  the 
name  of  Roberts  was  also  found  guilty  at  the  same  time  for  the 
like  offence.  They  moved  an  arrest  of  judgment,  and  their  case 
WHS  referred  to  the  Judges,  who  decided  against  them:  both 
received  sentence  at  the  Salop  assizes.  — Even  a few  months 
»ince,  some  inhabitants  of  Whitstable  in  Kent  were  brought  up 

* [Scelfe.  F.  J.  C.] 


142 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


!x)  London  on  information  that  great  quantities  of  goods  had  been 
found  in  their  possession,  saved  from  vessels  recently  wrecked: 
yet  so  common  was  this  practice,  and  so  universal  was  it  become 
in  the  first  commercial  country  in  the  world,  that  these  very 
people  were  ’much  surprised  when  infonmed  they  had  no  right 
to  the  goods.  N.  P. 

To  the  above  note,  I wish  to  add  some  beautiful  lines  that 
were  written  by  Mr.  Bowles  at  Bamborough  Castle.  This  very 
ancient  castle,  as  he  informs  us,  which  had  been  the  property  of 
the  family  of  the  Forsters,  whose  heiress  married  Lord  Crewe, 
Bishop  of  Durham,  is  now  appropriated  by  the  will  of  that  pious 
prelate,  among  other  benevolent  purposes,  to  the  noble  one  of 
ministering  instant  relief  to  such  shipwrecked  mariners  as  may 
happen  to  be  cast  on  that  dangerous  coast;  for  whose  preserva- 
tion, and  that  of  their  vessels,  every  possible  assistance  is  con 
trived,  and  is  at  all  times  ready.  The  whole  estate  is  vested  in 
the  hands  of  trustees,  one  of  whom.  Dr.  Sharp,  Archdeacon  of 
Northumberland,  with  an  active  zeal,  well  suited  to  the  nature 
of  the  humane  institution,  makes  this  castle  his  chief  residence, 
attending  with  unwearied  diligence  to  the  proper  application  of 
the  charity. 

“Ye  holy  tow’rs  that  shade  the  wave-worn  steep, 

Long  may  ye  rear  your  aged  brows  sublime, 

Though,  hurrying  silent  by,  relentless  time 
Assail  you,  and  the  winter  whirlwinds  sweep ! 

For  far  from  blazing  grandeur’s  crowded  halls. 

Here  charity  hath  fix’d  her  chosen  seat. 

Oft  listening  tearful  when  the  wild  winds  beat. 

With  hollow  bodings  round  your  ancient  walls : 

And  pity,  at  the  dark  and  stormy  hour 

Of  midnight,  when  the  moon  is  hid  on  high. 

Keeps  her  lone  watch  upon  the  topmost  tower. 

And  turns  her  ear  to  each  expiring  cry ; 

Blest  if  her  aid  some  fainting  wretch  might  save. 

And  snatch  him  cold  and  speechless  from  the  wave.” 


TO  CANTO  I. 


143 


P.  20,  1.  192.  But  what  avails  it  to  record  a name. 

How  very  beautiful  and  affecting  is  this  natural  transition! 

W.  L.  B. 

P.  21, 1.  202-205. 

Most  exquisitely  touched ! Forlorn  of  heart  — condemned  re- 
luctant to  the  faithless  sea  — long  farewell  — and  laurel  grove ; 
— every  epithet  has  its  full  force.  W.  L.  B. 


P.  22, 1.  226.  These,  chief  among  the  ship's  conduct 
ing  train. 

Conducting  train  is  not  a happy  expression,  but  I have  pre- 
ferred this  line  as  it  stood  in  the  second  edition,  to  what  was 
deemed  an  improvement  in  the  third : — 

“ Such  were  the  pilots;  tutor’d  to  divine 
The  untravell’d  course  by  geometric  hne.” 

The  mates  of  a merchant  vessel  cannot  be  styled  her  pilots,  and 
it  is  an  error- which  Falconer,  otherwise  so  correct,  too  often 
makes:  there  was  therefore  no  occasion  to  augment  instances 
of  it. 


P.  22, 1.  246. 

Though  tremhlinghj  alive  to  nature's  laws, 

Yet  ever  firm  to  honour's  sacred  cause. 

After  these  lines,  the  following  succeed  in  the  second  edi- 
tion:— 

“ Thrice  happy  soil ! had  learning’s  vital  ray 
Produced  its  pregnant  blossoms  to  the  day: 

But  all  the  abortive  beauties  of  his  mind 
A sordid  father’s  avarice  confined, 


144 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


And  nursed  alone  the  mercenary  art 
That  kills  the  springing  roses  of  the  heart. 

But  he  indignant  saw  the  golden  chain 
In  servile  bonds  each  generous  thought  restrain: 
His  virtue  still  appear’d,  though  wrapp’d  in  shade, 
As  stars  with  trembling  light  the  clouds  pervade.” 


P.  25, 1.  321.  RecalVd  to  memory  hy  the  adjacent 
shore. 

This  line  is  most  happily  introduced:  at  once  recalling  the 
mind  to  the  situation  of  the  ship,  and  artfully  preparing  the 
reader  for  the  episode  of  Palemon’s  history.  W.  L.  B. 

P.  26, 1.  332.  A sullen  languor  still  the  skies  opprest. 

How  clearly  is  every  circumstance  set  before  us  in  this  de- 
scription! W.  L.  B. 

P.  26, 1.  340. 

On  deck^  beneath  the  shading  canvas  spread., 

Rodmond  a rueful  tale  of  wonders  read. 

The  character  of  Rodmond  is  here  admirably  preserved.  It 
can  never  be  sufficiently  lamented  that  the  crews  of  our  ships 
are  not  supplied  with  cheap  editions  of  such  books  as  Kobinson 
Crusoe,  Sinbad’s  Narrative,  Roderic  Random,  and  some  of  the 
most  interesting  voyages.  The  perusal  of  such  works  would  often 
tend  to  allay  the  ferment  of  an  irritated  and  harassed  mind. 
So  persuaded  was  I,  from  experience,  of  the  beneficial  eftect 
likely  to  result  from  an  adoption  of  this  idea,  that  I mentioned 
it  to  Lord  Spencer  when  he  presided  at  the  Board:  by  whom  it 
was  approved. 

A passage  occurs  in  Mickle’s  translation  of  Camoens*  Lusiadas 
which  resembles  the  above  description  by  Falconer.  (Ed.  8vo. 
rol.  ii.  p.  103.) 


TO  CANTO  1. 


145 


The  weary  fleet  before  the  gentle  gale 
With  joyful  hope  display’d  the  steady  sail. 

Through  the  smooth  deep  they  plough’d  the  lengthening  way , 
Beneath  the  wave  the  purple  car  of  day 
To  sable  night  the  eastern  sky  resign’d, 

And  o’er  the  decks  cold  breathed  the  midnight  wind. 

All  but  the  watch  in  warm  pavilions  slept, 

The  second  watch  the  wonted  vigils  kept: 

Supine  their  limbs,  the  mast  supports  the  head. 

And  the  broad  yard-sail  o’er  their  shoulders  spread 
A grateful  cover  from  the  chilly  gale,  ^ 

And  sleep’s  soft  dews  their  heavy  eyes  assail: 

Languid,  against  the  languid  power  they  strive, 

And  sweet  discourse  preserves  their  thoughts  alive. 

When  Leonardo,  whose  enamour’d  thought 
In  every  dream  the  plighted  fair  one  sought: 

“ The  dews  of  sleep  what  better  to  remove 
Than  the  soft,  woful,  pleasing  tales  of  love?” 

“ 111  timed,  alas !“’  the  brave  Veloso  cries, 

The  tales  of  love  that  melt  the  heart  and  eyes. 

The  dear  enchantments  of  the  fair  I know. 

The  fearful  transport,  and  the  rapturous  woe: 

But  with  our  state  ill  suits  the  grief,  or  joy: 

Let  war,  let  gallant  war  our  thoughts  employ! 

With  dangers  threaten’d,  let  the  tale  inspire 
The  scorn  of  danger,  and  the  hero’s  fire.”  — 

His  mates  with  joj'  the  brave  Veloso  hear. 

And  on  the  youth  the  speaker’s  toil  confer. 

The  brave  Veloso  takes  the  word  with  joy: 

“And  truth,”  he  cries,  “shall  these  slow  hours  decoy. 

The  warlike  tale  adorns  our  nation’s  fame; 

The  Twelve  of  England  give  the  noble  theme.” 


10 


146 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  32,  1.  490. 

The  vessel  parted  on  the  falling  tide^ 

Yet  time  one  sacred  hour  to  love  supplied. 

The  ship,  which  was  lying  at  her  moorings  in  the  river 
Thames,  is  said  to  part,  on  her  quitting  them. 

The  falling  tide,  or  tide  of  ebb,  is  thus  described  by  Dr.  Hut 
ton : — “ The  sea  is  observed  to  flow  for  about  six  hours,  from 
south  towards  north;  the  sea  gradually  swelling;  so  that,  enter 
ing  the  mouths  of  rivers,  it  drives  back  the  river-waters  towards 
their  heads,  or  springs.  After  a continual  flux  of  six  hours,  the 
sea  seems  to  rest  for  about  a quarter  of  an  hour;  after  which  it 
begins  to  ebb,  or  retire  back  again,  from  north  to  south,  for  six 
hours  more ; in  which  time,  the  water  sinking,  the  rivers  resume 
their  natural  course.  Then,  after  a seeming  pause  of  a quarter 
of  an  hour,  the  sea  again  begins  to  flow  as  before : and  so  on  al- 
ternately.” 

P.  32,  1.  500.  0 ye!  whose  melting  hearts. 

The  lines  that  follow  are  exquisitely  conceived,  but  they  were 
also  beautiful,  though  inferior,  in  the  second  edition : — 

“ 0 all  ye  soft  perceptions,  that  impart 
Impetuous  rapture  to  the  fainting  heart, 

In  life’s  last  gloom  who  bid  the  enchanting  ray 
Of  joy  voluptuous  agonies  convey.” 

P,  35,  1.  579.  So  melts  the  surface  of  the  frozen 
stream. 

1 am  in  doubt  whether  this  idea  was  not  better  expressed  ie 
the  second  edition:  — 

“ So  feels  the  frozen  stream  at  noon  of  day 
Awhile  the  parting  sun’s  enervate  ray.” 


TO  CANTO  I. 


147 


P.  3G,  i.  588.  And  from  her  cheek  beguiled  the  fall* 
ing  tear. 

It  is  singular  that  Johnson  should  not  have  more  strongly 
marked  in  his  excellent  dictionary  this  sense  of  the  verb  be- 
guile: thus  Shakspeare  in  Othello:  — 

“ And  often  did  beguile  me  of  my  tears.” 

This  idea  was  not  so  elegantly  worded  in  the  second  edition,  but 
the  following  lines  were  added,  which  ought  not  afterwards  to 
have  been  omitted : — 

“ So  the  reviving  sun  exhales  the  showers 
That  fall  alternate  on  the  evolving  flowers.” 

The  whole  of  Palemon’s  interesting  history  was  considerably 
embellished  and  enlarged  in  the  third  edition.  In  the  second, 
Palemon,  accompanied  by  his  sordid  father,  joins  the  ship  at 
Dover;  and  Anna  and  her  mother,  who  both  came  on  board 
whilst  the  vessel  remained  in  the  river,  to  take  leave  of  Albert, 
are  thus  introduced:  — 

“ Fast  by  that  dome,  where  from  afflicting  fate 
The  veteran  sailor  finds  a safe  retreat, 

The  boat  prepares  to  waft  them  to  the  shore : 

They  part,  alas ! perhaps  to  meet  no  more. 

0 Muse,  in  silence  hide  the  mournful  scene. 

Where  all  the  pangs  of  sympathy  convene!” 

What  a loss  has  this  asylum  experienced  by  the  recent  death  of 
its  treasurer! 

P.  37,  1.  610.  PalemorCs  bosom  felt  a sweet  relief 

The  four  lines  that  follow  are  not  in  the  third  edition,  where 
they  have  been  omitted  to  mak3  room  for  a simile;  of  whiob 
Falconer  was  too  fond : — 

“ The  hapless  bird,  thus,  ravish’d  from  the  skiea, 

Where  all  forlorn  his  loved  companion  flies, 


148 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


In  secret  long  bewails  his  cruel  fate, 

With  fond  remembrance  of  his  winged  mate; 

Till  grown  familiar  with  a foreign  train, 

Composed  at  length,  his  sadly-warbling  strain 
In  sweet  oblivion  charms  the  sense  of  pain.” 

This  simile,  as  Sir.  Bowles  observes,  is  new,  pathetic,  and  poeti- 
cal; but  yet  its  application  to  Palemon  is  totally  false,  since  he 
never  grew  familiar  with  a foreign  train:  with  him, 

“ Hope  fed  the  wound,  and  absence  knew  no  cure.” 

P.  37, 1.  616.  Compassion^ s sacred  stream  impetu- 

ous rolls. 

Our  poet  here  employs  an  improper  epithet  to  mark  the  char- 
acter of  the  sacred  stream  of  compassion ; and,  instead  of  impetu- 
ous, might  have  rather  used  unceasing,  or  untainted. 

P.  39,  1.  671.  Deep  midnight  now  involves  the  livid 
skies. 

A passage  that  has  wonderful  accuracy  and  beauty.  The 
scene  begins  with  description,  picturesque  and  pleasing;  then  a 
general  effect  of  the  phantasms  of  sleep  is  spread  over  it ; it  then 
becomes  more  particular,  and  the  mind  is  roused  by  the  striking 
contrast  — All  hands  unmoor ! Nothing  can  exceed  the  manner 
in  which  this  whole  scene  is  set  before  us : the  weighing  of  the 
anchor,  and  the  appearance  of  the  vessel  as  she  glides  secure 
along  the  glassy  plain.  W.  L.  B. 

No  one  but  a seaman  would  have  thought  of  the  epithet  livid, 
BO  expressive  of  the  discoloured  sky,  of  that  deep  black  and  blue 
which  pervades  its  concavity  at  sea,  previous  to  an  easterly  gale. 
The  waning  moon  was  thus  originally  introduced : — 

“ The  pale-orb’ d moon,  diffusing  watery  rays. 

Gleam’d  o’er  protracted  clouds  and  ambient  haze.” 


TO  CANTO  L 


149 


During  the  time  that  I passed  at  sea  with  my  ever-lamented 
friend  Admiral  Pa^me,  I was  frequently  induced  by  that 
superior  taste  for  poetry  which  he  possessed,  to  observe  the 
variations  of  the  sublime  scenery  with  which  we  were  sur- 
rounded. The  view  by  moonlight  at  sea  is  strikingly  beau- 
tiful; and  the  dimness  of  its  waning  orb  renders  the  differ- 
ent parts  of  a ship  more  grand  and  terrific.  Thomson  well 
described  it  (Summer,  1.  1687) : — 

“A  faint  erroneous  ray, 

Glanced  from  the  imperfect  surfaces  of  things, 

Flings  half  an  image  on  the  straining  eye.” 

I remember  watching  this  effect  in  the  Impetueux  off  Brest, 
when  a ray  of  the  moon’s  feeble  light  played  undulating  from 
the  horizon  to  that  part  of  the  deck  on  which  I stood.  A variety 
of  gigantic  meteors  appeared  to  pass  upon  the  waves.  The 
moon  then  seemed  to  struggle  through  a thick  fleecy  cloud, 
from  which  at  length  she  rapidh’-  emerged  with  fresh  lustre, 
and  gave  a new  character  to  the  scene.  The  mid-watch  had 
just  commenced,  and  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  boatswain’s  mates 
proclaimed  the  hour  of  night.  The  sound  of  the  ship’s 
bell  was  long  heard  in  sullen  vibration;  whilst  the  following 
passages  from  Hamlet  came  over  m3'  memor}',  and  gave  to 
the  whole  scene  an  additional  effect : — 

Bern.  Tis  now  struck  twelve.  Get  thee  to  bed,  Francisco. 
Fran.  For  this  relief  much  thanks  : ’tis  bitter  cold,  and  I am 
sick  at  heart. 

«**»***♦ 
Mar.  What,  has  this  thing  appeared  again  to-night  ? 

Bern.  I have  seen  nothing. 

P.  40,  1.  698.  And  with  their  levers. 

The  windlass  is  a large  cylindrical  piece  of  timber  used  in 
merchant  ships  to  heave  up  the  anchors : it  is  furnished  with 
strong  iron  pauls  to  prevent  it  from  turning  back  by  the  efforts 
Df  the  cable,  when  charged  with  the  weight  of  the  anchor,  or 
Itrained  by  the  violent  jerking  of  the  ship  in  a tempestuous  sea. 
As  the  windlass  is  heaved  about  in  a vertical  direction,  it  is  evi- 


150 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


dent  that  the  effort  of  an  equal  number  of  men  acting  upon  it 
will  be  much  more  powerful  than  on  the  capstan.  It  requires, 
however,  some  dexterity  and  address  to  manage  the  handspec,  or 
lever,  to  the  greatest  advantage ; and  to  perform  this  the  sailors 
must  all  rise  at  once  upon  the  windlass,  and,  fixing  their  bars 
therein,  give  a sudden  jerk  at  the  same  instant;  in  which  move- 
ment they  are  regulated  by  a sort  of  song  pronounced  by  one  of 
the  number.  The  most  dexterous  managers  of  the  handspec  in 
heaving  at  the  windlass  are  generally  supposed  to  be  the  colliers 
of  Northumberland;  and  of  all  European  mariners,  the  Dutch 
are  certainly  the  most  awkward  and  sluggish  in  this  manoeuvre. 

Falconer. 

P.  41,  1.  710.  Levant  and  Thracian  gales. 

Or,  as  in  the  third  edition,  “ From  east  to  north  ” 

P.  41,  1.  715.  The  stately  ship  they  tow. 

From  the  Saxon  teohan.  Towing  is  chiefly  used,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  when  a ship  for  want  of  wind  is  forced  toward 
the  shore  by  the  swell  of  the  sea.  Falconer. 

P.  41,  1.  724.  Tall  Idcis  height^ 

Tremendous  rock  ! emerges  on  the  sight ; 
North-east^  a league^  the  Isle  of  Standia  hears ^ 
And  westward.  FreschhUs  woody  cape  appears. 

The  celebrated  Mount  Ida,  which  covers  almost  the  middle  of 
Candia,  is  thus  described  by  Tournefort  (vol.  i.  p.  41): — “Blount 
Ida  is  nothing  but  a huge,  overgrown,  ugly,  sharp-raised,  bald- 
pated  eminence;  not  the  least  shadow  of  a landscape,  no  delight- 
ful grotto,  no  bubbling  spring,  nor  purling  rivulet  to  be  seen. 
Begging  Dionysius  Periegetes’s  pardon,  as  likewise  his  commen- 
tator’s, the  Archbishop  of  Thessalonica,  the  praises  they  bestow- 
8d  on  this  mountain  seem  to  be  strained,  or  at  least  are  now  past 


TO  CANTO  I. 


151 


their  season.  Ida  according  to  Helladius,  as  cited  in  the  Bib- 
lioth.  of  Photius,  was  the  common  appellative  of  all  mountains 
from  whence  a great  extent  of  country  could  be  discovered: 
and  if  Suidas  may  be  credited,  all  forests  that  afford  an  agreeable 
prospect  were  called  Ide,  from  ISeiVy  to  see.  — The  Isle  of  Stan- 
dia,  or  rather  Dia,  has  been  already  mentioned  in  a previous 
note,  as  being  situated  N.  E.  of  the  Port  of  Candia.  It  lies  at  the 
distance  of  about  four  leagues,  and  contains  three  harbours : the 
two  easternmost  are  much  esteemed.  — Cape  Freschin,  or 
Freschia,  is  the  easternmost  of  the  two  projecting  points  of  land 
on  the  northern  coast  of  Candia,  and  forms  a mark  for  ships  com- 
ing to  an  anchor  in  the  road.” 


P.  41, 1.  732. 

Now  swelling  stud-sails  on  each  side  extend^ 
Then  stay-sails  sidelong  to  the  h'eeze  ascend, 

1.  Stud,  or  studding-sails,  called  by  the  French  honnettes  en 
Uui^  are  light  sails,  which  are  extended  in  moderate  breezes 
beyond  the  skirts  of  the  principal  sails;  where  they  appear  as 
wings  upon  the  yard-arms.  (According  to  a conjecture  of  one  of 
Falconer’s  friends,  these  sails  seem  originally  to  have  been  called 
steadying  sails,  from  their  tendency  to  keep  the  ship  in  a steady 
course,  as  also  from  the  Saxon  word  sted  [?]  to  assist.)  2.  Stay-sail : 
— though  the  form  of  sails  is  so  extremely  different,  they  may  all 
be  divided  into  sails  which  have  either  three,  or  four  sides.  A 
stay-sail  comes  under  the  first  class,  and  receives  its  name  from 
a large  strong  rope  on  which  it  is  hoisted,  called  a stay;  employ- 
ed to  support  the  mast,  by  being  extended  from  its  uj)per  end 
towards  the  fore  part  of  the  ship,  as  the  shrouds  (a  range  of  large 
ropes)  are  extended  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  mast,  and  behind 
it.  The  yards  of  a ship  are  said  to  be  square,  when  they  hang 
across  the  ship,  at  right  angles  with  the  mast;  and  braced,  when 
they  foiTU  greater  or  lesser  angles  with  the  ship’s  length. 

Falconeb. 


152 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  42,  1.  740.  The  pilots  now  their  azimuth  ear- 
tend. 

The  magnetical  azimuth,  a term  which  astronomers  have 
borrowed  from  the  Arabians,  is  clearly  described  bj’’  John- 
son, as  being  the  apparent  distance  of  the  sun  from  the  north 
or  south  point  of  the  compass  ; and  this  is  discovered,  by  ob- 
serving with  an  azimuth  compass,  when  the  sun  is  ten  or 
fifteen  degrees  above  the  horizon. 

P.  42,  1.  759.  White  as  the  clouds  beneath  the 
blaze  of  noon. 

Before  the  art  of  coppering  ships’  bottoms  was  discovered 
they  were  painted  white.  The  wales  are  the  strong  flanks  which 
extend  along  a ship’s  side,  at  different  heights,  throngliout  her 
whole  length,  and  form  the  curves  by  whicli  a vessel  appears 
light  and  graceful  on  the  water : they  are  usually  distinguished 
into  the  main-wale  and  the  channel-wale.  Falconer. 

P.  46,  1.  841.  Deep-blushing  armors  all  the  top 
invest. 

In  our  largest  merchantmen,  the  tops,  or  platforms  which 
surround  the  heads  of  the  lower  mast  (for  every  ship’s  mast, 
taken  in  its  apparent  length,  consists  of  the  lower  mast,  the 
top-mast,  and  top-gallant  mast)  are  fenced  on  the  aft,  or  hin- 
der side,  by  a rail  of  about  three  feet  high,  stretching  across, 
supported  by  stanchions,  between  which  a netting  is  usually 
constructed,  the  outside  of  which  was  formerl}’’  covered  with 
red  baize,  or  canvas  painted  red,  and  was  called  the  top- 
armor;  being  a sort  of  blind  against  the  enemy  for  the  men 
who  were  there  stationed.  This  name  is  now  nearly  lost,  and 
the  netting  is  always  covered  with  black  canvas 


TO  CANTO  n, 


153 


CANTO  n. 


P.  50, 1.  25. 

Rodrnond  exulting  felt  the  auspicious  windj 
And  hy  a mystic  charm  its  aim  confined. 

Falconer  in  these  lines  has  preserved  the  existence  of  a very 
old  custom  among  seamen,  particularly  those  of  Norway,  Den- 
mark, and  Sweden;  which  consisted  in  their  binding  a rope, 
with  several  knots  tied  in  it,  around  the  main-mast:  this  they 
considered  as  an  mfaUible  spell  to  secure  the  continuance  of  a 
favourable  wind.  N.  P. 


P.  50, 1.  30.  Distress  recedes. 

After  this  line,  the  third  edition  introduces  eight  lines, 
which,  in  the  second,  follow  line  36,  Canto  i.  in  the  present 
edition. 


P.  50,  1.  33.  they  descry 

A liquid  column  towering  shoot  on  high. 

All  that  follows  is  truly  grand,  and  much  superior  to  what 
Camoens  wrote  on  the  same  subject:  who, by  a strange  wnnt  of 
taste  for  poetical  propriety,  though  his  genius  was  undoubtedly 
of  the  first  order,  compared  fhe  appearance  of  the  swoln  enor- 
mous volume  of  the  water-spout,  to  a leech  on  the  lips  of  a cow! 
I congratulate  the  public  that  some  of  the  smaller,  yet  truly  ex- 
<iuisite,  poems  of  this  original  and  great  writer,  have  been  so 
faithfully  and  so  elegantly  rendered  into  English  by  Lord  Strang- 
ford.  It  is  to  be  wished  that  Camoens’  master-poem,  the 
Lusiadas,  might  be  undertaken  by  cue  so  capable  of  expressing 
its  beauties  in  English.  \V.  L.  B. 


154 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  50,  1.  41. 

In  spiral  motion  firsts  as  seamen  deem^ 

Swells^  when  the  raging  whirlwind  sweeps  the  stream. 

Notwithstanding  the  different  accounts  that  have  been  pub 
lished  respecting  this  extraordinary  meteor,  some  philosophers 
still  entertain  a doubt  whether  the  water  in  the  first  instance 
ascends,  or  descends.  Falconer,  like  all  the  seamen  I have  ever 
met  with,  favours  the  first  idea.  The  same  opinion  was  also  sup- 
ported by  Dr.  Forster  in  his  Voyage  round  the  World  (vol.  i.  p. 
191).  “ The  water,”  he  says,  “ in  a space  of  fifty  or  sixty  fath- 

oms, moved  towards  the  centre ; and  there  rising  into  vapour,  by 
the  force  of  the  whirling  motion  ascended  in  a spiral  form  toward 
the  clouds.  According  to  the  opinion  of  Signor  Beccaria,  water- 
spouts have  an  electrical  origin,  and  as  a remarkable  proof  of  this, 
they  have  been  dispersed  by  presenting  to  them  sharp-pointed 
knives,  or  swords.  — Their  form  is  that  of  a speaking-trumpet, 
with  the  wider  end  in  the  clouds ; and  their  first  appearance  is 
in  the  semblance  of  a deep  cloud,  the  upper  part  of  which  is 
white,  and  the  lower  black.  They  are  generally  seen  in  calm 
weather.  The  subject  of  water-spouts,  and  the  ascent  or  descent 
of  the  water  in  the  first  instance,  is  discussed  by  Mr.  Oliver  and 
Dr.  Perkins,  in  the  second  volume  of  the  American  Philosophi- 
cal Transactions.  Dr.  Perkins  supports  the  latter  idea,  and 
dwells  on  Mr.  Stuart’s  account  of  water-spouts,  which  also  tends 
to  support  the  theory  of  descent:  Mr.  Stuart’s  figures  were 
drawn  with  the  appearance  of  a bush  round  their  base.  Dr. 
Lindsay  also,  in  several  letters  which  he  published  in  the  Gentle- 
man’s Magazine  (vols.  li.  liii.  Iv.),  endeavours  to  establish  the 
same  theory.  Some  valuable  remarks  on  this  subject  have  ap- 
peared from  Professor  Wilcke  of  Upsal. 

P.  52,  1.  83.  What  radiant  changes  strike  the  aston^ 
isKd  sight. 

Falconer  feels  all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  ancient  poets  in  his 
description  of  their  sacred  fish,  whom  Ovid  made  the  preserve. 


TO  CANTO  II. 


155 


of  his  Arion.  (Fasti,  lib.  ni.  113.) — Our  naturalists  now  divide 
this  genus  into  three  species : the  dolphin,  the  porpoise,  and  the 
grampus.  The  beauty  of  the  dying  dolphin  even  surpasses  Fal- 
coner’s account  of  it.  In  the  above  line  there  is  a striking  simi- 
larity to  an  expression  in  a late  Cambridge  Tripos  on  Fishing, 
by  a gentleman  of  Trinity  College:  speaking  of  the  trout,  when 
taken  out  of  the  water,  he  adds  — “ et  leti  variabilis  umbra.”  — 
The  appearance  of  the  dolphin  in  this  part  of  the  poem  has  addi- 
tional beauty,  as  the  sure  sign  of  an  approaching  gale. 

P.  53, 1.  109. 

Across  her  stem  the  ^parting  waters  run^ 

As  clouds^  hy  tempests  wafted,  pass  the  sun. 

There  is  peculiar  beauty  in  these  lines,  which  perhaps  none 
but  a seaman  will  feel  the  full  force  of ; and  it  is  for  want  of  this, 
that  hardly  any  painter,  who  has  not  been  himself  at  sea,  can 
make  his  ships  look  alive,  as  sailors  tenn  it,  upon  the  waves. 
The  outspreading  of  the  salt  foam  of  these  parting  waters  gives 
great  variety  and  life  to  marine  scenery,  and  adds  much  to  the 
correctness  of  any  design.  A ship  not  only  throws  up  the  salt 
foam  with  her  keel  ahead,  but  flings  it  out  boldly  at  her  sides, 
and  leaves  the  striated  sea  covered  with  it  to  a considerable  dis- 
tance.— And  now  I am  upon  this  subject,  let  me  observe  that 
nothing  can  look  more  forced  or  unnatural  in  a marine  drawing, 
than  the  introduction  of  floating  barrels,  or  a log  of  wood,  on 
which  artists  are  often  accustomed  to  write  their  names ; but  the 
various  kinds  of  gull.  Mother  Carey’s  Chicken,  and  other  aquatic 
birds,  may  be  introduced  with  considerable  effect. 


P.  53, 1.  113.  And  while  aloof  from  Retimo  she 
steers. 

An  account  of  this  city,  with  a beautiful  view  of  it,  is  given 
by  Tournefort  in  his  Voyage  to  the  Levant  (vol.  i.  p.  28).  It 
is  the  third  place  in  the  island,  and  is  governed  by  a bashaw 


156 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


under  the  viceroy  of  Canea.  Retimo  extends  along  the  haven, 
the  shore  of  which  is  covered  with  gardens : the  citadel,  that  was 
built  for  its  security,  stands  on  a sharp  rock  stretching  into  the 
sea.  Ships  of  war  were  at  one  time  laid  up  in  ordinary  below 
the  citadel,  but  at  present  there  is  scarcely  depth  enough  for 
small  craft.  Retimo  is  the  Rhithymna  of  Ptolemy.  — Malacha’s 
Foreland,  Cabo  Maleca,  or  Cape  Melier,  lies  twelve  miles  N.  E. 
of  Canea;  the  town  and  island  of  La  Suda  are  situated  beneath 
this  cape. 

P.  54,  1.  127.  But  see!  in  confluence  borne  before 
the  blast 

1 do  think  that  neither  Virgil,  nor  any  poet,  ancient  or  modern, 
has  ever  introduced  the  description  of  a storm,  or  described  it, 
so  clearly,  faithfully,  and  poetically,  as  Falconer  has  done  in  the 
following  lines.  W.  L.  B. 

The  gradual  rising  of  a gale  of  wind  (the  term  by  which  sea- 
men denote  a storm,  which  is  entirely  banished  from  our  naval 
vocabulary,)  has  much  of  the  sublime.  The  preceding 
calm,  which  Falconer  has  accurately  noticed,  is  treacherous 
and  alarming:  a watery  sun-set  often  proclaims  what  ma}'  be 
expected;  and  from  that  moment  the  violence  of  the  gale  gradu- 
ally steals  upon  the  mariner,  until  at  length  — it  comes  resist- 
less ! — If  not  attended  with  rain,  a heavy  sea  is  soon  formed. 
Like  an  immense  ridge,  it  slowly  moves  along  in  dreadful 
grandeur;  and,  rising  as  it  were  from  the  abyss,  threatens 
instant  destruction,  as  the  magnitude  of  the  immense  billows 
is  increased  by  their  approach  to  the  ship:  when  suddenly  the 
nearest  sinks  beneath  her  keel,  whilst  the  ship,  falling  into  a 
trough  of  the  sea,  seems  almost  thrown  on  her  beam  ends.  As 
the  ship  rights,  the  billow  rushes  from  under  her  with  incredible 
force  and  rapidity,  and  with  its  curling  and  extended  ridge 
covers  the  adjacent  ocean  with  foam. 

In  the  second  edition,  these  lines  were  differently  expressed.  I 
did  not  know  to  which  a preference  could  be  given,  and  there- 
fore followed  the  third  edition : — 


TO  CANTO  11. 


157 


“ But  see ! in  confluence  borne  before  the  blast, 

A rolling  dusk  of  clouds  the  moon  o’ercast, 

In  dreadful  length  diffused ; the  winds  arise, 

And  swift  the  scud  in  dark  succession  flies.” 

The  scud  is  a name  given  by  seamen  to  the  lowest  and  light- 
est clouds,  which  are  swiftly  driven  along  the  atmosphere  by  the 
w inds. 

P 54, 1.  132.  Low  in  the  wave  the  leeward  cannon 
lie. 

When  the  wind  crosses  a ship’s  course,  either  directly  or 
obliquely,  that  side  of  the  ship  upon  which  it  acts  is  termed  the 
\^eather  side;  and  the  opposite  one,  which  is  then  pressed 
downwards,  is  termed  the  lee  side.  All  on  one  side  of  her  is 
accordingly  called  to  windward,  and  all  on  the  opposite  side  to 
leeward:  hence  also  are  derived  the  lee  cannon,  the  lee  braces, 
weather  braces,  «S:c.  The  same  term  is  used  by  Milton : — 

“ The  pilot  of  some  small  night-founded  skiff. 

With  fixed  anchor. 

Moors  by  his  side  under  the  lee.”  Falcoxeu. 

P.  54,  1.  134,  136.  Topsails^  blocks. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  some  of  my  readers  to  inform  them 
that  topsails  are  large  square  sails,  of  the  second  magnitude 
and  height;  as  the  courses  are  of  the  first  magnitude,  and  the 
lowest.  — Reefs  are  certain  divisions  of  the  sail,  which  are  taken 
in.  or  let  out,  in  proportion  to  the  increase  or  diminution  of  the 
wind.  Blocks  are  what  landsmen  would  rather  term,  from  the 
French  word  pouile^  pullies. 

P.  51,  1.  133.  More  distant  grew  receding  Candids 
shore. 

Falconer  with  great  judgment  still  keeps  his  eye  on  the  land- 


158 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


icape  of  the  surrounding  scenery;  varying  by  this  means  tho 
uniformity  of  the  description,  and  giving  it  a more  picturesque 
cast  and  natural  effect.  W.  L.  B. 


P.  55,  1.  149,  &c.  Halyards — how-lines  — clue- 
lines — reef -tackles  — earing  s. 

Halyards  are  those  ropes  by  which  sails  are  hoisted  or 
lowered.  Bow-lines  are  ropes  fastened  to  the  outer  edge  of 
square  sails  in  three  different  places,  that  the  windward  edge  of 
the  sail  may  be  bound  tight  forward  on  a side  wind,  in  order  to 
keep  the  sail  from  shivering.  Clue-lines  are  fastened  to  the 
lower  corners  of  the  square  sails,  for  the  more  easy  furling  of 
them.  Reef-tackles  are  ropes  fastened  to  the  edge  of  the  sail, 
just  beneath  the  lowest  reef;  and  being  brought  down  to  the 
deck  by  means  of  two  blocks,  are  used  to  facilitate  the  operation 
of  reefing.  Earings  are  small  ropes  employed  to  fasten  the  upper 
corners  of  the  principal  sails,  and  the  extremities  of  the  reefs, 
to  the  respective  yard-arms,  particularly  when  any  sail  is  to  be 
close  furled.  Falcoxer. 

Pope  in  one  of  his  letters  speaks  very  contemptuously  of  what 
he  st3des  the  tarpaulin  phrase.  How  wonderful  that  this  phrase, 
in  the  hands  of  such  a master  as  Falconer,  should  have  been 
made  subservient  to  such  an  almost  magical  effect. 

W.  L.  B. 


P.  55, 1.  151.  The  shivering  sails  descend, 

A most  striking  and  happy  expression. 

P.  55, 1.  164.  Brail  ifp  the  mizzen  quick. 

The  mizzen  is  a large  sail  bent  to  the  mizzen  mast,  and  is 
commonly  reckoned  one  of  the  courses,  which  consist  of  the 
main-sail,  fore-sail,  and  mizzen.  As  the  word,  brails,  is  a gen- 
eral name  given  to  all  the  ropes  which  are  employed  to  haul  up 
the  bottems,  lower  corners,  and  skirts  of  the  great  sails,  so  the 


TO  CANTO  II. 


159 


drawing  them  together,  for  the  more  ready  operation  of  furling, 
18  called  brailing  them  up.  The  effect  which  the  operation  of 
trailing  up  the  mizzen  produces  is  noticed  in  the  last  note  of 
this  canto. 

P.  55,  1.  165.  Man  the  clue-garnets!  let  the  main* 
sheet  jly! 

Clue-garnets  are  the  same  to  the  main-sail  and  fore-sail  which 
the  clue-lines  are  to  all  other  square-sails,  and  are  hauled  up 
when  the  sail  is  to  be  furled,  or  brailed.  Sheets : it  is  necessary 
in  this  place  to  remark  that  the  sheets,  which  are  universally 
mistaken  by  our  English  poets  for  the  sails,  are  in  reality  the 
ropes  that  are  used  to  extend  the  clues,  or  lower  corners  of  the 
sails,  to  which  they  are  attached.  Falconer. 

P.  55,  1.  166.  It  rends  in  thousand  shivering  shreds 
on  high. 

As  the  gale  rises.  Falconer’s  description  keeps  pace  in  gran- 
deur. The  circumstances  are  so  rapidly,  and  yet  so  distinctly 
brought  before  us,  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  see,  to  hear,  to 
partake  the  anxiety;  and  to  become,  if  I may  thus  express 
myself,  one  of  the  unfortunate  crew.  W.  L.  B. 

P.  55, 1.  171.  Bear  up  the  helm  a-weather. 

The  reason  for  putting  the  helm  a-weather,  or  to  the  side  next 
the  wind,  is  to  make  the  ship  veer  before  it  when  it  blows  so 
hard  that  she  cannot  bear  her  side  to  it  any  longer.  Veering, 
or  wearing,  is  the  operation  by  which  a ship,  in  changing  her 
course  from  one  board  to  the  other,  turns  her  stern  to  windward : 
the  French  term  is  virer  vent  arri'ere.  Falconer. 


160 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  56, 1.  176.  Spreads  a hroad  concave  to  the  sweep 
ing  gale, 

A new  and  happy  image,  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  full  ex- 
panded sail.  W.  L.  B. 

The  playful  Titania  of  our  immortal  bard  describes  the  same 
effect,  though  not  with  equal  force : — 

“ When  we  have  laugh’d  to  see  the  sails  conceive. 

And  grow  big-bellied, with  the  wanton  wind.” 

(Midsummer  Night’s  Dream,  act  ii.) 
One  of  the  finest  pictures  ever  painted  by  my  kind  friend 
Romney  was  taken  from  this  passage. 

P.  56,  1.  178.  Timoneer, 

The  helmsman,  from  the  French  tlmmier : it  is  however  to 
be  lamented  that  our  poet  had  not  selected  some  more  familiar 
tenn  from  his  own  language. 

P.  56, 1.  187.  The  helm  to  starboard  moves. 

In  the  third  edition  these  lines  have  been  altered  so  as  entirely 
to  destroy  their  beauty:  — 

“ The  helm  to  starboard  turns ; with  wings  inclined 
The  sidexong  canvas  clasps  the  faithless  wind.” 

This  could  not  have  been  done  by  Falconer,  but  by  some  inju- 
dicious friend  who  was  not  a seaman,  and  thought  by  this  means 
to  improve  the  elegance  of  the  poem.  I have  often  thought  that 
Mallet,  who  employed  our  author  to  write  for  the  Critical 
Review,  introduced  this  and  other  similar  alterations  in  the 
Shipwreck. 

P.  56, 1.  190.  While  the  fore  staysail  balances  be- 
fore. 

Called  with  more  propriety  the  fore  top-mast  stay-sail:  it  is 
of  a triangular  shape,  and  runs  upon  the  fore  top-mast  stay 


TO  CANTO  II. 


161 


over  the  bowsprit:  it  consequently  has  an  influence  on  the  fore 
part  of  the  ship,  as  the  mizzen  has  on  the  hinder  part;  and, 
when  thus  used  together,  they  may  be  said  to  balance  each 
other.  See  also  the  last  note  of  this  canto.  Falconer. 

P.  56,  1.  192.  The  extended  tach  confined. 

The  main-sail  and  fore-sail  of  a ship  are  furnished  with  a 
tack  on  each  side,  which  is  formed  of  a thick  rope  tapering  to 
the  end,  having  a knot  wrought  upon  the  largest  extremity,  by 
which  it  is  firmly  retained  in  the  clue  of  the  sail:  by  this  means 
the  tack  is  always  fastened  to  windward,  at  the  same  time  that 
the  sheet  extends  the  sail  to  leeward.  Falconer. 


P.  56,  1.  195 the  hunt-lines  gone. 

Bunt-lines  are  ropes  fastened  to  the  bottoms  of  the  square 
sails  to  draw  them  up  to  the  yards,  when  the  sails  are  brailed, 
or  furled.  Falconer. 

P.  56,  1.  197.  The  extending  sheets  on  either  side 
are  manned. 

In  the  third  edition,  the  incautious  pen  of  some  fresh-water 
sailor  is  again  visible;  wdiich  the  reader  will  perceive  by  com- 
paring the  lines  as  they  stand  in  the  present  edition  with  the 
following : — 

“ On  either  side  below  the  sheets  are  mann’d, 

Again  the  fluttering  sails  their  skirts  expand: 

Once  more  the  top-sails,  though  Avith  humbler  plume, 
Mounting  aloft,  their  ancient  post  resume : 

Again  the  bow-lines  and  the  yards  are  braced. 

And  all  the  entangled  cords  in  order  placed.” 

The  word  cord  is  not  knoAvn  on  board  a ship,  and  therefore 
ccuil  not  have  been  used  by  Falconer.  — A yard  is  said  to  be 
braced,  when  it  is  turned  about  the  mast  horizontally,  either  to 

11 


162 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


the  right  or  left ; the  ropes  employed  in  this  service  are  called 
the  larboard  and  starboard  braces. 


P.  57, 1.  205-8.  Brails^  head-ropes^  rohans. 

Brails : a general  name  given  to  all  the  ropes  which  are  em- 
ployed to  haul  up,  or  brail, the  bottoms  and  lower  corners  of  the 
great  sails.  A rope  is  always  attached  to  the  edges  of  the  sails, 
to  strengthen,  and  prevent  them  from  rending;  those  parts  of  it 
which  are  on  the  perpendicular  or  sloping  edges,  are  called 
leech  ropes;  that  at  the  bottom,  the  foot  rope;  and  that  on  the 
top,  or  upper  edge,  the  head  rope.  Robans,  or  rope  bands,  are 
small  pieces  of  rope,  of  a sufficient  length  to  pass  two  or  three 
times  about  the  yards,  in  order  to  fix  to  them  the  upper  edges 
of  the  respective  great  sails:  the  robans  for  this  purpose  are 
passed  through  the  eyelet  holes  under  the  head-rope.  Falconer. 


1\  57, 1.  209. 

That  task  perform^ they  first  the  braces  stocky 
Then  to  the  chess-tree  drag  the  unwilling  tack, 
And^  while  the  lee  clue-garnet ’s  lower'd  away^ 
Taught  aft  the  sheet  they  tally ^ and  belay 

The  braces  are  here  slackened,  because  the  lee-brace  confining 
the  yard,  the  tack  could  not  come  down  until  the  braces  were 
cast  off.  The  chess-tree,  called  by  the  French  taqutt  d'amure^ 
consists  of  a perpendicular  piece  of  wood,  fastened  with  iron 
bolts,  on  each  side  the  ship:  in  the  upper  part  of  the  chess-tree 
i.s  a large  hole  through  which  the  tack  is  passed ; and  when  the 
clue,  or  lower  corner,  of  the  sail  comes  down  to  it,  the  tack  is 
said  to  be  aboard.  — The  two  last  lines  form  an  extraordinary 
instance  of  that  power  which  our  author  possessed  of  introduc- 
ing the  technical  terms  of  navigation  with  singular  effect  into 
poetry.  Taught,  the  roide  of  the  French,  and  diclit  of  the  Dutch 
sailors,  implies  the  state  of  being  extended  or  stretched  out 


TO  CANTO  II.  163 

Tally  is  a word  applied  to  the  operation  of  hauling  the  sheets 
aft,  or  toward  the  ship’s  stern.  To  belay  is  to  fasten. 

P.  58,  1.  232.  But  like  a ruffian  on  his  quarry  flies, 

Shakspeare  uses  ruffian  as  a verb : — 

“ A fuller  blast  ne’er  shook  our  battlements: 

If  it  hath  ruffian’ d so  upon  the  sea, 

What  ribs  of  oak,  when  mountains  melt  on  them. 

Can  hold  the  mortice  ? ” Othello. 

The  same  word  is  afterwards  used  by  our  author  as  an  adjective 
(page  74).  Quarry  is  a term  taken  from  hawking,  and  signifies 
game  that  is  flown  at  by  a hawk.  Waller  uses  it,  though  not  ex- 
actly in  the  same  sense  with  Falconer:  — 

“ They  their  guns  discharge : 

This  heard  some  ships  of  ours,  though  out  of  view. 

And  swift  as  eagles  to  the  quarry  flew.” 

P.  58, 1.  240.  The  hounding  vessel  dances  on  the 
tide. 

The  whole  of  this,  and  the  preceding  paragraph,  were  added  in 
the  third  edition ; and,  with  the  exception  of  this  line,  are  worthy 
of  Falconer:  he  could  never  have  inserted  the  word  dances. 
The  situation  of  the  ship  is  justly  likened  to  that  of  a war-horse: 
who  having  at  first  exulted,  on  “ smelling  the  battle  afar  off,  the 
noise  of  the  captains,  and  the  shouting,”  reels  amidst  the  subse- 
quent shock  of  the  combat.  Had  Falconer  lived,  he  would  prob- 
ably have  written  in  a subsequent  edition 

“ The  bounding  vessel  labours  on  the  tide:  ” 

for  otherwise,  even  supposing  the  vessel  to  dance,  the  simili 
would  not  hold  good ; as  the  horse  reeled,  in  like  manner  the  shij 
rolled,  or  rocked,  or  laboured. 


164 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  59,  1.  251. 

They  fiirVd  the  sails^  and  pointed  to  the  wind 
The  yards^  by  rollmg  tackles  then  confined^ 

Or,  as  in  the  second  edition, 

“ Around  the  sail  the  gaskets  they  convey’d. 

And  rolling  tackles  to  the  cap  belay’d.” 

The  rolling  tackle  is  an  assemblage  of  blocks  or  pulleys,  through 
which  a rope  is  passed,  until  it  becomes  four-fold,  in  order  to 
confine  the  yard  close  down  to  leeward  when  the  sail  is  furled, 
that  the  yard  may  not  gall  the  mast,  from  the  rolling  of  the  ship. 
Gaskets  are  platted  ropes  to  wrap  round  the  sails  when  furled. 

P.  59,  1.  257,  &c.  Top-gallant-yards,  travellers, 
hack-stays,  top-ropes,  parrels,  lifts, 
topped,  booms. 

Top-gallant-yards,  which  are  the  highest  ones  in  a ship,  are 
sent  down  at  the  approach  of  a heavy  gale,  to  ease  the  mast- 
Ueads.  Travellers  are  iron  rings  furnished  with  a piece  of  rope, 
Dne  end  of  which  encircles  the  ring  to  which  it  is  spliced ; they 
are  principally  intended  to  facilitate  the  hoisting  or  lowering  of 
the  top-gallant  yards;  for  which  purpose  two  of  them  are  fixed 
on  each  backstay ; which  are  long  ropes  that  reach  on  each  side 
the  ship,  from  the  top-masts  (which  are  the  second  in  point  of 
height)  to  the  chains.  Top-ropes  are  employed  to  sway  up,  or 
lower,  the  top-masts,  top-gallant-masts,  and  their  respective 
yards.  Parrels  are  those  bands  of  rope  by  which  the  yards  are 
fastened  to  the  masts,  so  as  to  slide  up  and  down  when  requisite; 
and  of  these  there  are  four  different  sorts.  Lifts  are  ropes  which 
reach  from  each  mast-head  to  their  respective  yard-arms.  A 
yard  is  said  to  be  topped,  when  one  end  of  the  yard  is  raised 
higher  than  the  other,  in  order  to  lower  it  on  deck  by  means  of 
the  top-ropes.  Booms  are  spare  masts,  or  yards,  which  are 
placed  in  store  on  deck,  between  the  main  and  foro-mast,  immedi- 


TO  CANTO  II. 


165 


ately  to  supply  the  place  of  any  that  may  be  carried  away,  or 
injured,  by  stress  of  weather.  Falconer. 

P.  60,  1.  279.  And  cheerless  night  der  heaven  her 
reign  extends. 

This  is  a most  correct  and  awful  description  of  a sunset  pre- 
ceding a storm,  or  rather  a heavy  gale  of  wind,  and  was  some  years 
since  selected  by  Mr.  Pocock  as  the  subject  of  a large  oil  paint- 
ing; in  which  this  artist,  with  a bold  originality  of  genius,  repre- 
sented only  the  sea  and  sky.  No  vessel  whatever  was  intro- 
duced : the  effect  was  admirable ; and  may  be  recommended  to  the 
notice  of  such  persons  as  are  fond  of  marine  scenery.  The  spec- 
tator in  this  beautiful  picture  is  supposed  to  be  standing  in  a 
ship,  and  the  view  that  lies  before  him  is  the  expanse  of  ocean, 
rolling  in  all  its  grandeur,  without  any  object  to  intercept  the 
sight:  whilst  the  sickening  orb  of  the  setting  sun  is  enveloped 
in  the  crimson  scud  that  tinges  the  dusk  of  the  horizon. 

I have  a melancholy  pleasure  in  retracing  scenes  that  remind 
me  of  my  lost  and  ever  to  be  lamented  friend,  Admiral  Payne; 
and,  as  it  serves  to  illustrate  a passage  in  the  poem,  I trust  that 
such  remembrance  will  not  be  deemed  irrelevant  by  the  reader. 

We  were  cruising  off  Ushant,  in  the  Impetueux,  during  an  even- 
ing at  the  close  of  October,  and  the  dreary  coast  so  continually 
present  to  our  view  created  a painful  uniformity,  which  could 
only  be  relieved  by  observing  the  variations  of  the  expanse  that 
was  before  us.  — The  sun  had  just  given  its  parting  rays,  and  the 
last  shades  of  day  lingered  on  the  distant  waves ; when  a sky 
most  sublime,  and  threatening,  attracted  all  our  attention,  and 
was  immediately  provided  against  by  the  vigilant  officers  of  the 
watch.  To  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  except  where  the  sun  had 
left  some  portion  of  its  departing  rays,  a hard,  lowering,  blue 
firmament  presented  itself:  on  this  floated  light  yellow  clouds 
tinged  with  various  hues  of  crimson,  the  never-failing  harbingers 
of  a gale.  A strong  vivid  tint  was  reflected  from  them,  on  the 
sails  and  rigging  of  the  ship,  which  rendered  the  scene  more 
dreadful.  The  very  calm  that  prevailed  was  portentous  — the 


1G6 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


sea-bird  shrieked  as  it  passed ! As  the  tempest  gradually  ap- 
proached, and  the  winds  issued  from  the  treasuries  of  God,  the 
thick  darkness  of  an  autumnal  night  closed  the  whole  in  horrid 
uncertainty : — 

“ It  was  a dismal  and  a fearful  night ; 

And  on  my  soul  hung  the  dull  weight 
Of  some  intolerable  fate  I ” Cowley. 


P.  60, 1.  288.  But  here  the  doubtful  officers  disjoute. 

This  is  particulary  mentioned,  not  because  there  was,  or  could 
be,  any  dispute  at  such  a time  between  a master  of  a ship  and 
his  chief  mate,  as  the  former  can  always  command  the  latter; 
but  to  expose  the  obstinacy  of  a number  of  our  v^eteran  officers, 
who  would  rather  risk  <\ny  thing  than  forego  their  ancient  rules, 
although  many  of  them  are  in  the  highest  degree  equally  absurd 
and  dangerous.  It  is  to  the  wonderful  sagacity  of  these  philoso- 
phers that  we  owe  the  sea  maxims  of  avoiding  to  whistle  in  a 
storm,  because  it  will  increase  the  wind;  of  whistling  on  the 
wind  in  a calm ; of  nailing  horse-shoes  on  the  mast  to  prevent 
the  power  of  witches ; of  nailing  a fair  wind  to  the  starboard  cat- 
head, &c.  Falconer. 


P.  61,  1.  306.  The  taclc^s  eased  off. 

In  these  lines  I have  followed  the  second  edition;  in  the  third 
they  are  somewhat  different : — 

“ The  master  said ; obedient  to  command 
To  raise  the  tack  the  ready  sailors  stand: 

Gradual  it  loosens,  while  the  involving  clue. 

Swell’ d by  the  wind,  aloft  unruffling  flew.” 

It  has  been  already  remarked  that  the  tack  is  always  fastened 
to  windward ; consequently,  as  soon  as  it  is  cast  loose,  and  the 
clue-garnet  is  hauled  up,  the  weather  clue  of  the  sail  immediately 
mounts  to  the  yard;  and  this  operation  must  be  carefully  per- 


TO  CANTO  II. 


167 


formed  in  a storm,  to  prevent  the  sail  from  splitting,  or  being 
tom  to  pieces  by  shivering.  Falconer. 

P.  61,  1.  308.  The  sheet  and  weather-hrace  they  now 
stand  hy. 

To  stand  by  any  rope  is,  in  the  language  of  seamen,  to  take 
hold  of  it.  Whenever  the  sheet  is  cast  off,  it  is  necessary  to  pull 
in  the  weather-brace,  to  prevent  the  violent  shaking  of  the  sail. 


P.  61,  1.  311.  Loud  rattling,  jarring,  through  the 
blocks  it  Jiies. 

One  of  the  finest  and  most  descriptive  lines  in  the  whole 
poem ; the  beauty  of  which  was  enthely  destroyed  in  the  third, 
and  all  the  subsequent  editions:  — 

“ Thus  all  prepared,  ‘ Let  go  the  sheet ! ’ he  cries : 
Impetuous  round  the  ringing  wheels  it  flies.” 


P.  61, 1.  314.  By  spilling  lines  embraced. 

The  spilling  lines,  which  are  only  used  on  particular  occasions 
in  tempestuous  weather,  are  employed  to  draw  together  and 
confine  the  belly  of  the  sail,  when  inflated  by  the  wind  over  the 
yard.  Falconer. 

P.  61, 1.  319.  Below,  the  down-haid  tackle  others 

phj. 

The  violence  of  the  gale  forcing  the  yard  much  out,  it  could 
not  easily  have  been  lowered  so  as  to  reef  the  sail,  without  the 
application  of  a tackle,  consisting  of  an  assemblage  of  pulleys,  to 
haul  it  down  on  the  mast;  tliis  is  afterwards  converted  into 
tolling  tackle,  which  has  been  already  described  in  a note,  p.  164. 

Falconer 


168 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  61,  1.  320. 

Jears^  lifts^  and  brails,  a seaman  each  attends, 
And  down  the  mast  its  mighty  yard  descends, 

Jears,  or  geers,  answer  the  same  purpose  to  the  main-sail,  fore^ 
Bail,  and  mizzen,  as  halyards  do  to  all  inferior  sails.  The  tyo, 
a sort  of  runner,  or  thick  rope,  is  the  upper  part  of  the  jears* 
The  size  of  the  main-yard,  when  it  is  gradually  lowered,  appears 
truly  tremendous  and  mighty,  as  our  poet  terms  it:  1 could 
never  behold  it  without  astonishment. 

The  following  account  of  the  length  of  the  yards  of  our  good 
old  ship  Impetueux  will  enable  a landsman,  after  proportionable 
deduction,  to  form  some  idea  of  the  yards  of  a merchantman:  — 


Feet.  In. 

Main-yard 989 

Top-sail-yard  .• .696 

Top-gallant-yard 42  2 

Fore-yard 85  9 

Fore-top-sail-yard 67  1 

Fore-top-gallant-yard 37  2 

Mizzen-top-sail-yard 47  10 

Mizzen-top-gallant-yard 33  0 

Cross-jack-yard 66  0 

Sprit-sail-yard 64  2 


P.  61,  1.  324,  &c.  Reef -lines,  shrouds,  reef -band, 

outer  and  inner  turns. 

Reef-lines  are  only  used  to  reef  the  main-sail  and  fore-sail. 
Shrouds,  so  called  from  the  Saxon  scrud,  consist  of  a range  of 
thick  ropes  stretching  downwards  from  the  mast  heads,  to  the 
right  and  left  sides  of  a ship,  m order  to  support  the  mastis,  and 
enable  them  to  carry  sail ; they  are  also  used  as  rope  ladders,  by 
which  seamen  ascend,  or  descend,  to  execute  whatever  is  wanting 
to  be  done  about  the  sails  and  rigging.  Reef-band  consists  of  a 
piece  of  canvas  sewed  across  the  sail,  to  strengthen  it  in  the 


TO  CANTO  II. 


169 


place  where  the  eyelet-holes  of  the  reefs  are  formed.  The  outer 
turns  of  the  earing  serve  to  extend  the  sail  along  its  yard ; the 
inner  turns  are  employed  to  confine  its  head  rope  close  to  its  sur- 
face. Falconer. 

P.  62,  1.  346.  A sea,  upsurging  with  stupendous 
roll. 

A sea  is  the  general  term  given  by  sailors  to  an  enormous  wave ; 
and  hence,  when  such  a wave  bursts  over  the  deck,  the  vessel  is 
said  to  have  shipped  a sea.  Falconer. 

It  is  impossible  to  penise  the  dreadful  effects  of  this  event 
without  acknowledging  the  wonderful  powers  of  our  poet.  I 
know  only  of  one  writer  who  has  thus  forcibly  described  the 
awful  horrors  of  a watery  grave.  Mrs.  RadclifTs  Address  to  the 
Winds  is  worthy  of  Falconer;  and  will  serve  to  impart  kindred 
sensations  to  the  reader’s  mind:  — 

“ Viewless,  through  Heaven’s  vast  vault  your  course  ye  steer, 
Unknown  from  whence  ye  come,  or  whither  go ! 

]\Iysterious  powers ! I hear  ye  murmur  low. 

Till  swells  your  loud  gust  on  my  startled  ear. 

And  awful,  seems  to  say  — some  god  is  near! 

I love  to  list  your  midnight  voices  float 
In  the  dread  storm  that  o’er  the  ocean  rolls, 

And  while  their  charm  the  angry  wave  controls, 

Mix  with  its  sullen  roar,  and  sink  remote: 

Then,  rising  in  the  pause,  a sweeter  note. 

The  dirge  of  spirits,  who  your  deeds  bewail. 

A sweeter  note  oft  swells  while  sleeps  the  gale. 

But  soon,  ye  sightless  powers,  your  rest  is  o’er: 

Solemn,  and  slow  ye  rise  upon  the  air. 

Speak  in  the  shrouds,  and  bid  the  sea  boy  fear; 

And  the  fiiint  warbled  dirge  is  heard  no  more. 

“ Oh  then  I deprecate  your  awful  reign ! 

The  loud  lament  yet  bear  not  on  your  breath; 

Bear  not  the  crash  of  bark  far  on  the  main. 


170 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bear  not  the  cry  of  men  who  cry  in  vain, 

The  crew’s  dead  chorus  sinking  into  death ! 

Oh  give  not  these,  ye  powers ! — I ask  alone, 

As  rapt  I climb  these  dark  romantic  steeps. 

The  elemental  war,  the  billows  moan ; 

I ask  the  stiU,  sweet  tear  that  list’ning  fancy  weeps.” 

P.  63, 1.  376. 

Too  late  to  xoeather  now  MorecHs  land^ 

And  drifting  fast  on  Athens'  rocky  strand. 

To  weather  a shore  is  to  pass  to  windward  of  it,  which  at  this 
time  was  prevented  by  the  violence  of  the  gale.  Drift  is  that 
motion  and  direction  by  which  a vessel  is  forced  to  leeward  side- 
ways, when  she  is  unable  any  longer  to  carry  sail ; or,  at  least,  is 
restrained  to  such  a portion  of  sail  as  may  be  necessary  to  keep 
her  sufficiently  inclined  to  one  side,  that  she  may  not  be  dis- 
masted by  her  violent  labouring,  produced  by  the  turbulence  of 
the  sea.  Falcoi^ek. 


P.  64,  1.  383.  And  try  beneath  it  sidelong  in  the 
sea. 

To  try  is  to  lay  the  ship  with  her  side  nearly  in  the  direction 
of  the  wind  and  sea,  with  her  head  somewhat  inclined  to  wind- 
ward ; the  helm  being  fastened  close  to  the  lee  side,  or  in  the 
sea  language,  hard  a-lee,  to  retain  her  in  that  position.  See  a 
further  illustration  in  the  last  note  of  this  canto.  Falconer. 

P.  64,  1.  385,  &c.  Topping-lift,  hnitfle,  throt. 

A tackle,  or  assemblage  of  pulleys,  which  tops  the  upper  end 
of  the  mizzen-yard.  This  line,  and  the  six  following,  describe 
the  operation  of  reefing  and  balancing  the  mizzen.  The  knittle 
is  a short  line  used  to  reef  the  sails  by  the  bottom.  The  throt  is 
that  part  of  the  mizzen  yard  which  is  close  to  the  mast. 

Falconer. 


TO  CANTO  II. 


171 


P.  64,  1.  886.  'Hie  head,  with  douhling  canvas 
fenced  around. 

This  was  done  to  prevent  any  chafing  of  the  sail  when  bal- 
anced. The  operation  of  balancing  is  now  totally  disused;  great 
improvements  having  been  since  made  both  in  the  theory  and 
practice  of  seamanship.  Captain  Bentinck  of  the  Koval  Navy 
invented  and  used  triangular  courses,  which  he  carried  with 
singular  effect  in  the  heaviest  gales,  and  these  courses  were 
named  after  him  Bentincks : since  which,  storm  stay-sails  have 
superseded  their  use,  and  seem  to  answer  every  purpose,  either 
for  lying-to,  or  giving  the  ship  way  through  :he  water.  N.  i*. 


P.  66, 1.  486. 

Across  the  geometric  plane  expands 
The  compasses  to  circumjacent  lands. 

Here  again,  the  third  edition  has  been  guilty  of  an  injudicious 
alteration:  — 

“In  vain  athwart  the  mimic  seas  expands.’* 

It  is  to  be  lamented  that  in  our  navy  no  mathematical  instru- 
ments are  sent  on  board  by  the  Admiralty.  Even  the  master  is 
obliged  to  purchase  them  out  of  his  pay;  and,  as  that  is  but 
moderate,  he  naturally  procures  the  cheapest  that  can  be 
obtained.  One  set  at  least  of  the  very  best  that  the  metropolis 
can  produce  should  be  sent  from  the  Board  to  each  ship ; having 
previously  been  examined  by  the  Royal  Astronomer  at  Green- 
wich. The  institution  of  an  hydrographer  at  the  Admiralty,  in 
order  to  furnish  our  ships  with  correct  charts,  will,  probably,  in 
time  lead  to  the  above  mentioned  desideratum.  It  is  painful  to 
observe  the  wretched  instruments  that  are  now  in  use  on  board ; 
nor  can  the  exception  of  a few  ships,  whose  captains  are  men  of 
independent  fortunes,  weaken  this  assertion. 


172 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  67,  1.  458.  Companion,  Unnacle. 

The  companion  is  a wooden  porch  placed  over  the  ladder  that 
leads  down  to  the  cabins  of  the  officers.  The  binnacle  is  a case 
which  is  placed  on  deck  before  the  helm,  containing  three 
divisions;  the  middle  one  for  a lamp,  or  candle,  and  the  two 
others  for  mariner’s  compasses.  There  are  always  two  binnacles 
on  the  deck  of  a ship  of  war,  one  of  which  is  placed  before  the 
master,  at  his  appointed  station.  In  all  the  old  sea  books  it  waa 
called  bittacle.  Falconer. 


P.  67,  1.  464.  They  sound  the  well. 

The  well  is  an  apartment  in  a ship’s  hold,  serving  to  inclose 
the  pumps : it  is  sounded  by  dropping  down  a measured  iron  rod, 
which  is  connected  with  a long  line.  The  brake  is  the  pump 
handle:  Falconer  again  alludes  to  this  iron  rod  (page  76, 1.  697), 
“ sounding  her  depth  they  eyed  the  wetted  scale.”  A most 
valuable  discovery  was  made  some  years  since  by  >Ir.  Richard 
Wells,  and  communicated  to  the  American  Philosophical  So- 
ciety, by  means  of  which  vessels  could  be  pumped  at  sea  with- 
out the  labour  of  men.  See  also  Naval  Chronicle,  Vol.  II. 
p.  237. 

P.  69,  1.  520.  Meanwhile  Avion,  traversing  the 
waist. 

The  waist  is  that  part  of  a ship  which  is  contained  between 
the  quarter  deck  and  fore-castle;  or  the  middle  of  that  deck 
which  is  immediately  below  them.  When  the  waist  of  a mer- 
chant ship  is  only  one  or  two  steps  in  descent  from  the  quarter 
deck  and  fore-castle,  she  is  said  to  be  galley-built;  but  when  it 
is  considerably  deeper,  as  with  six  or  seven  steps,  she  is  ItirD 
called  frigate-built.  Falconkb. 


TO  CANTO  II. 


173 


P.  70, 1.  540. 

Cimmerian  darlcness  shades  the  deep  around^ 
Save  when  the  lightnings  in  terrific  blaze 
Deluge  the  cheerless  gloom  with  horrid  rays: 
Ahove^  all  ether  f raught  with  scenes  of  woe, 

I have  already  in  the  Life  of  Falconer  mentioned  the  uncer- 
tainty that  prevails  respecting  the  author  of  the  favourite  song, 
“ Cease,  rude  Boreas.”  In  this  passage  additional  testimony  seems 
to  arise,  that  it  was  composed  by  Falconer:  — 

“ In  our  eyes  blue  lightnings  flash: 

One  wide  water  all  around  us, 

All  above  us  one  black  sky ! ” 

P.  70,  1.  552 the  booming  waters  roar. 

Beautifully  expressive  of  their  violence:  thus  Young, 

“ booming  o’er  his  head 

The  billows  closed;  he’s  number’d  with  the  dead!” 

In  the  third  edition,  however,  this  epithet  was  expunged:  — 

“ o’er 

The  sea-beat  ship  the  involving  waters  roar.” 

P.  71, 1.  577.  Her  place  discovered  by  the  rules  of 
art. 

The  lee-way,  or  drift,  in  this  passage  are  synonymous  terras. 
The  true  course  and  distance,  resulting  from  these  traverses,  is 
discovered  by  collecting  the  difference  of  latitude  and  departure 
of  each  course;  and  reducing  the  whole  into  one  departure,  and 
one  difference  of  latitude,  according  to  the  known  rules  of  trigo- 
nometry: this  reduction  will  immediately  ascertain  the  base  and 
perpendicular;  or,  in  other  words,  will  give  the  difference  of  lat- 
itude and  departure,  to  discover  the  course  and  distance. 

Falconer. 


174 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  71,  1.  581,  &c.  Falconer St.  George^  Gardalor. 

Falconera,  a small  island  in  the  Archipelago,  to  the  N.  W.  of 
Milo:  there  is  an  open  space  of  sea  to  the  North  and  South  of  it; 
but  in  every  other  direction  are  islands  at  no  great  distance. 
Falconer,  in  his  chart,  prefixed  to  the  second  edition,  marked 
a line  of  rocks  throughout  the  E.  and  S.  E.  coast  of  this  island. 
The  small  and  steep  island  of  St.  George  is  situated  to  the  S.  W. 
of  Cape  Coionna,  at  the  entrance  of  the  gulf  of  Egina.  Gardalor 
lies  off  the  coast  of  Attica,  between  Cape  Coionna  and  Porto 
Leone. 

P.  73,  1.  615. 

These  seas^  where  storms  at  various  seasons  hloWj 

No  reigning  winds  nor  certain  omens  know. 

It  is  in  consequence  of  this  that  the  Greeks  in.  all  ages  have 
been  excellent  boatmen,  and  bad  seamen.  Mr.  Mitford  informs  us, 
in  the  first  volume  of  his  History  of  Greece,  that  the  English  are 
the  only  navigators  who  can  keep  this  sea  in  rough  weather,  and 
that  they  “ alone,  accustomed  in  all  their  surrounding  waters  to 
a bolder  navigation,  commonly  venture  in  the  Archipelago  to  work 
to  windward.”  Mr.  Wood,  in  his  Essay  on  Homer,  adds  — “I  re- 
member to  have  heard  an  English  captain  of  a Turkey  ship,  a man 
of  knowledge  and  character,  say,  that  he  did  not  scruple,  in  tol- 
erable weather,  to  work  within  the  Arches,  as  our  seamen  call 
the  Archipelago  (which  is  itself  a corruption  of  the  modern 
Greek  Aigiopelago),  but  he  made  it  a rule  never  to  take  off  his 
clothes;  and,  without  leaving  orders  to  be  called  in  the  instant 
of  any  threatening  appearance  in  the  sky,  or  any  dubious  sight 
of  land,  never  to  quit  the  deck.” 

P.  74,  1.  661. 

Yet  where  with  safety  can  we  dare  to  scud 
Before  this  tempest^  and  pursuing  flood"} 

The  movement  of  scudding,  from  the  Swedish  word  skutta,  is 


TO  CANTO  II. 


175 


never  attempted  in  a contrary  wind,  unless,  as  in  the  present  in- 
stance, the  condition  of  a ship  renders  her  incapable  of  sustain- 
ing any  longer  on  her  side  the  mutual  efforts  of  the  winds  and 
waves*  The  principal  hazards  incident  to  scudding  are  gene- 
rally a pooping  sea;  the  difficulty  of  steering,  which  exposes  the 
vessel  perpetually  to  the  risk  of  broaching-to ; and  the  want  of 
sufficient  sea-room.  A sea  striking  the  ship  violently  on  the  stern 
may  dash  it  inwards,  by  which  she  must  inevitably  founder ; in 
broachiiig-to  suddenly,  she  is  threatened  with  being  immediately 
overset;  and,  for  want  of  sea-room,  she  is  endangered  with  ship- 
wreck on  a lee-shore ; a circumstance  too  dreadful  to  require  ex- 
planation. Falconer. 


P.  76, 1.  701. 

And  now  the  senior  pilots  seerrUd  to  wait 
ArioiHs  voice ^to  close  the  dark  debate. 

The  word  pilots  occurs  too  often,  since  it  is  invariably  used  in 
a sense  foreign  to  its  real  meaning  — the  master  and  mates 
of  the  vessel.  The  reader  will  here  remember,  under  the  charac- 
ter of  Arion  that  of  Falconer  himself  is  described:  in  the  speech 
therefore  that  succeeds,  we  have  the  real  sentiments  of  our 
author  at  this  critical  emergency,  which,  with  considerable 
effect,  he  has  thus  reserved  to  close  the  debate. 

P.  77,  1.  717.  Thus  water-logged. 

A ship  is  said  to  be  water-logged,  when,  having  received 
through  her  leaks  a great  quantity  of  water  in  her  hold,  she  has 
become  so  heavy  and  inactive  on  the  sea,  as  to  yield  without 
resistance  to  the  efforts  of  every  wave  that  rushes  over  the  deck. 
As  in  this  dangerous  situation  the  centre  of  gravity  is  no  longer 
fixed,  but  fluctuates  from  place  to  place,  the  stability  of  the  ship 
is  utterly  lost:  she  is  therefore  almost  totally  deprived  of  the  use 
of  her  sails,  which  operate  to  overset  her,  or  press  the  head  under 
Water:  hence  there  is  no  resource  for  the  crew,  except  to  free 


176 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


her  by  the  pumps,  or  to  abandon  her  for  the  boats  as  soon  as 
possible.  Falconer. 


P.  81,  1.  830,  831.  Hatches^  lanyard. 

Falconer,  to  avoid  repetition,  has,  in  the  word  hatches,  em- 
ployed a term  which  he  himself  in  his  dictionary  informs  us, 
seamen  sometimes  incorrectly  use  for  gratings ; a sort  of  open 
cover  for  the  hatchways,  formed  by  several  small  laths,  or  bat- 
tens, which  cross  each  other  at  right  angles,  leaving  a square 
interval  between.  These  gratings  are  not  only  of  service  to  admit 
the  air  and  light  between  decks,  but  also  to  let  off  the  smoke  of 
the  great  guns  during  action. 

Lanyard,  or  laniard,  is  a short  piece  of  line  fastened  to  differ- 
ent things  on  board  a ship,  to  preserve  them  in  a particular 
place ; such  are  the  lanyards  of  the  gun  ports,  the  lanyard  of  the 
buoy,  the  lanyard  of  the  cat  hook,  &c.  but  the  lanyards  alluded 
to  in  the  above  line  were  those  by  means  of  which  the  shrouds 
were  kept  extended;  or,  as  a sailor  would  express  himself,  taught. 

P.  84,  1.  901.  Both  staysail  sheets  to  midships 
were  conveyed. 

The  fore  stay-sail  being  one  of  the  sails  which  command  the 
fore  part  of  the  ship,  is  for  that  reason  hoisted  at  this  time,  to 
bear  her  fore  part  round  before  the  wind : for  the  same  reason, 
after  it  is  split,  the  foremost  yards  are  braced  aback;  that  is,  so 
as  to  form  right  angles  with  the  direction  of  the  wind.  For  a 
further  illustration  of  this,  see  the  subsequent  note. 

Falconer. 

P.  84,  1.  914.  And  hew  at  once  the  mizzen-mast 
away. 

In  addition  to  the  nautical  notes  by  Falconer,  the  following 
Illustration  of  the  orders  that  have  been  given  by  Albert  was 
lubjoined  by  our  author  to  the  second  edition:  — “ When  a ship 


TO,  CANTO  II. 


177 


is  forced  by  the  violence  of  a contrary  wind  to  furl  all  her  sails, 
if  the  storm  increases,  and  the  sea  continue  to  rise,  she  is  often 
strained  to  so  great  a degree,  that,  to  ease  her,  she  must  be  made 
to  run  before  their  mutual  direction;  which  however  is  rarely 
done  but  in  cases  of  the  last  necessity.  Now  as  she  lias  no  head- 
way, the  helm  is  deprived  of  its  governing  power,  as  the  latter 
eifect  is  only  produced  in  consequence  of  the  former:  it  therefore 
necessarily  requires  an  uncommon  effort  to  wheel,  or  turn  her, 
into  any  different  position.  It  is  an  axiom  in  natural  philosophy 
that,  ‘Every  body  will  persevere  in  its  state  of  rest,  or  moving 
uniformly  in  a right  line,  unless  it  be  compelled  to  change  its 
state  by  forces  impressed ; and  that  the  change  of  motion  is  pro- 
portional to  the  moving  force  impressed,  and  is  made  according 
to  the  right  line  in  which  that  force  acts.’ 

“ By  this  principle  it  is  easy  to  conceive,  how  a ship  is  com- 
pelled to  turn  into  any  direction  by  the  force  of  the  wind  acting 
upon  her  sails  in  lines  parallel  to  the  plane  of  the  horizon ; for 
the  sails  may  be  so  set,  as  to  receive  the  current  of  air  either 
directly,  or  more  or  less  obliquely;  and  the  motion  communi- 
cated to  the  ship  must  of  necessity  conspire  with  that  of  the 
wind.  As  therefore  the  ship  lies  in  such  a situation  as  to  have 
the  wind  and  sea  directly  on  her  side;  and  these  increase  to 
such  a height,  that  she  must  either  founder,  or  scud  before  the 
storm;  the  aftmost  sails  are  first  taken  in,  or  so  placed  that  the 
wind  has  very  little  power  on  them;  and  the  head-sails,  or  fore- 
most sails,  are  spread  abroad,  so  that  the  whole  force  of  the  wind 
is  exerted  on  the  ship’s  fore-part,  which  must  therefore  of  neces- 
sity yield  to  its  impulse.  The  prow  being  thus  put  in  motion, 
its  motion  must  conspire  with  that  of  the  wind,  and  will  bo 
pushed  about  so  as  to  mn  immediately  before  it:  for  this  reason, 
when  no  more  sail  can  be  carried,  the  foremost  yards  are  braced 
aback,  that  is,  in  such  a position  as  to  receive  all  the  current  of 
air  they  can  contain  directly,  to  perfonn  the  operation  of  head- 
sails;  and  the  mizzen-yard  is  lowered  to  produce  the  same  effect 
as  furling,  or  placing  obliquely  the  aftmost  sails;  and  this  at- 
tempt being  found  insufficient,  the  mizzen-mast  is  cut  awajq 
which  must  have  been  followed  by  the  main-mast,  if  the  expected 
effect  had  not  taken  place.” 


12 


178 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


CANTO  m. 

P.  89, 1.  1.  TF7ien  in  a barbarous  age^  See. 

These  beautiful  introductory  reflections  on  the  beneficial  in- 
fluence of  poetry,  as  promoting  the  civilization,  and  consequently 
the  happiness  of  mankind,  form  an  unanswerable  reply  to  the 
enthusiastic  ravings  of  Rousseau  and  his  fellow  madmen ; who 
have  attempted  to  raise  the  character  of  the  human  savage 
above  the  mind  that  has  been  polished  with  the  embellishments 
of  social  life. 


P,  91, 1.  65. 

While  round  before  the  enlarging  wind  it  falls, 

“ Square  fore  and  aft  the  yards^'  the  master  calls. 

The  wind  is  said  to  enlarge  when  it  veers  from  the  side 
towards  the  stern.  To  square  the  yards  is,  in  this  place,  to 
haul  them  directly  across  the  ship’s  length.  Falcoher. 

P.  92, 1.  69.  So  steady!  meet  her  I 

Steady ! is  an  order  to  steer  the  ship  according  to  the  line  on 
which  she  then  advances,  without  deviating  to  the  right  or  left. 

Falconer. 


P.  92, 1.  73.  Then  back  to  port,  Sec. 

The  left  side  of  a ship  is  called  port  in  steering,  that  the  helms- 
men may  not  mistake  larboard  for  starboard.  In  all  large  ships, 
the  tiller  (or  long  bar  of  timber  that  is  fixed  horizontally  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  rudder)  is  guided  by  a wheel,  which  acts  upon 
t with  the  powers  of  a crane,  or  windlass.  Falconer. 


TO  CANTO  III. 


179 


P.  93, 1.  99,  As  that  rebellious  angel^  &c. 

This  allusion  to  the  flight  of  Satan  from  hell  forms  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  similes  in  the  poem.  It  is  described  by  Milton 
in  two  separate  paf.sages  at  the  conclusion  of  his  second  book 
of  Paradise  Lost. 


P.  93,  1.  113,  &c.  JPoop^  bow. 

Poop,  from  the  Latin  word  puppis,  is  the  hindmost  and  highest 
deck  of  a ship.  The  bow  is  the  rounding  part  of  a ship’s  side 
forward,  beginning  at  the  place  where  the  planks  arch  inwards, 
and  terminating  where  they  close  at  the  stem,  or  prow. 

Falconer. 


P.  94, 1.  129 when  past  the  beam  it  files. 

On  the  beam  implies  any  distance  from  the  ship  on  a line 
with  the  beams,  or  at  right  angles  with  the  keel:  thus,  if  the  ship 
steers  northward,  any  object  lying  east  or  west  is  said  to  be  on 
her  starboard  or  larboard  beam.  Falconer. 


P.  95, 1.  154. 

They  did:  for  in  this  desert^  joyless  soil, 

No  flowers  of  genial  science  deign  to  smile. 

The  whole  of  what  follows  would  have  been  more  clearly 
expressed  had  our  author  substituted  our  for  this:  since  the 
reader  is  at  first  troubled  to  find  out  whether  the  soil  of  the 
classic  teiTitory  of  Greece  is  not  alluded  to : — 

“ They  did:  for  in  our  desert,  joyless  soil.” 

Or,  in  our  uneducated  miserable  profession,  no  love  of  science,  or 
of  literatm'e,  ever  appears. 

In  these  and  the  following  lines.  Falconer  very  unjustly  abuses 
the  taste  and  classical  acquirements  of  naval  officers:  his  own 
mind  was  alone  sufficient  to  contradict  such  an  assertion.  No 


180 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


profession  whatever  cherishes  with  more  assiduity  the 
“ flowers  of  genial  science,”  and  the  glowing  numbers  of 
poesy,  than  the  British  Navy.  To  the  name  of  Falconer  may 
be  added  that  of  Mickle,  and  man}'^  others,  who  were,  as 
Mr.  Pye  says, 

“ Nursed  on  the  waves,  and  cradled  in  the  storm.” 

Nor  can  I allow  that  ocean’s  genius  withers  the  bloom  of 
every  springing  flower.  The  sublime  Camoens  composed 
the  greater  part  of  his  Lusiadas  at  sea,  under  the  immediate 
influence  of  this  genius  ; and  if  I were  requested  to  select 
a person,  whose  taste  for  poetry,  and  other  classic  acquire- 
ments, was  superior  to  that  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  I should 
be  justified  in  mentioning  a name  which  will  ever  be  en- 
graven on  my  heart — the  late  Admiral  J.  W.  Payne. 

P.  96  1.  178. 

Immortal  Athens  firsts  in  ruin  spread^ 
Contiguous  lies  at  Port  Lionds  head. 

Porto  Leone,  the  ancient  Piraeus,  received  its  modern  title 
from  a large  lion  of  white  marble,  since  carried  b}’-  the  Vene- 
tians to  their  arsenal.  The  ports  of  ancient  Athens  were — 
1.  Phalerum  ; 2.  Munychia  ; and  3.  Piraeus,  the  most  capa- 
cious. 

A particular  account  of  modern  Athens,  or  as  it  is  now 
called,  Athini,  is  given  by  Dr.  Chandler : it  was  also  visited 
by  Lord  Sandwich  in  his  voyage  round  the  Mediterranean. 
Its  antiquities  have  been  amply  described  by  Le  Roy  and 
Stuart.  I have  already  mentioned  the  dangerous  navigation 
of  the  Archipelago,  and  it  is  considerably  increased  as  you 
advance  towards  Porto  Leone  ; particularly  if  the  ship  is  of 
any  great  burden.  At  the  close  of  the  year  1802,  the  Braakel 
of  54  guns,  commanded  by  my  brother  Capt.  George  Clarke, 
was  sent  on  this  hazardous  service  ; which  he  accomplished 
at  the  most  imminent  risk.  The  following  extract  from 
his  letter  will  illustrate  the  danger  which  Falconer  so 
well  describes: — “From  the  ignorance  of  the  pilot,  the 
Braakel,  when  in  stays,  struck  at  midnight  on  a point  of 
and  tAat  forms  the  entrance  of  the  harbour  of  Porto  Leone 


TO  CANTO  III. 


181 


sight  miles  from  the  town  of  Athens.  I contrived  to  land  a 
quantitj’’  of  provisions  on  the  rocks,  and  was  obliged  to  order 
half  the  guns  to  be  hove  overboard;  at  the  same  time  a sheet 
anchor  and  cable  were  got  out  astern  to  heave  the  ship  off,  which 
we  in  vain  attempted  for  many  hours.  At  length,  to  our  great 
joy,  being  assisted  by  the  wind  coming  strong  right  off  the  land, 
we  swung  round  off,  and  rode  stern  to  wind  by  the  above  men- 
tioned anchor.  In  about  an  hour  the  weather  changed;  the  wind 
shifted,  and  placed  the  ship  with  a strong  gale,  and  heavy  sea, 
close  to  the  shore.  The  cable  was  instantly  cut,  and  we  made 
sail  to  get  round  the  northern  extremity  of  the  point;  when  the 
pilot  again  mistaking  the  land,  we  anchored  in  a wrong  position, 
yet  clear  of  the  rocks;  until  the  wind  shifting  placed  the  ship  in 
the  middle  of  a second  dark  stormy  night.  We  came  slap  on  shore, 
along-side  the  rocks;  fortunately  the  ship  lay  tolerably  easy, 
being  assisted  by  the  anchor;  which, owing  to  the  wind  shifting, 
brought  it  well  out  on  the  starboard  bow.  Day-break  at  length 
appeared,  and  the  gale  shifted  again;  hove  on  the  anchor,  and 
succeeded  in  getting  her  off  after  a few  hard  knocks,  the 
loss  of  a little  copper,  and  part  of  the  false  keel.  Made  sail 
again,  weathered  our  danger,  and  anchored  for  want  of  wind; 
when  a breeze  springing  up,  we  got  safe  into  Porto  Leone.  In  per- 
forming this  we  lost  the  sheet  anchor,  the  stream,  and  the  kedge. 
On  leaving  this  harbour  we  were  driven  back  three  times,  when 
I bore  up  for  Port  Oliver,  in  the  island  of  Metelin,  where  there  is 
a harbour  beyond  description  safe  and  spacious.  I do  not  think 
this  is  generally  known;  or  what  is  more,  that  the  Turks  build 
frigates  there.  One  of  32  guns  was  at  this  time  on  the  stocks.” 

G.  C. 


P.  98,  1.  243.  Thai  pipes  among  the  shades  of 
Endermay. 

A song  entitled  the  Birks  of  Endermay  was  written  by  Mallet, 
and  is  mentioned  by  Dr.  Currie  in  his  Life  o^  Burns,  page  278. 


182 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  100, 1.  287.  No  human  footstep  marks  the  ircicl> 
less  sand. 

And  thus  Petrarch, 

Dove  vestigio  uman  Tarena  stampi.  F.  D. 


P.  101 , 1.  311.  The  seat  of  sacred  Troy  is  found  no 
more. 

Amidst  the  disputes  that  have  harassed  the  learned  world  on 
this  subject,  I am  glad  to  subjoin  the  opinion  of  my  brother, 
fellow  of  Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  who  has  so  lately  visited 
Troy;  and,  after  a minute  examination  of  every  particular  on 
the  spot,  has  been  convinced  that  such  a city  did  exist  as  was 
described  by  Homer:  — “ Travellers  visiting  the  plain  of  Troy  in 
search  of  columns  or  statues  by  which  the  site  of  ancient  Ilium 
may  be  determined,  are  not  less  idly  occupied  than  those  per- 
sons who  have  pretended  to  discover  such  remains.  The  latter 
class  have  fallen  into  the  error  of  the  painter  employed  by 
Comte  de  Caylus  (see  Winkelman,  liv.  iv.  ch.  8,  note)  to 
illustrate  the  picture  by  Polygnotus  at  Delphi,  according  to 
Pausanius;  who  ornamented  the  city  of  Troy  with  columns  and 
statues  of  marble — monuments  of  the  arts  that  were  unknown 
at  the  time  of  the  Trojan  war.  All  that  we  can  expect  to  dis- 
cover, in  order  to  identify  the  scene  of  that  war,  are  the  features 
of  nature  as  described  by  Homer;  and  these  are  found,  precisely 
answering  his  description.”  E.  D.  C.  Dr.  Chandler  has  lately 
considered  this  subject  in  his  History  of  Troy. 


P,  101, 1.  320. 

Whose  gleam  directed  loved  Leander  der 
The  rolling  Hellespont 

A few  years  since,  a servant  of  the  Neapolitan  Consul  at  the 
Dardanelles  swam  across  the  Hellespont;  and,  after  a short 


TO  CANTO  III. 


183 


walk  on  the  Asiatic  coast,  retarned  back  in  safety,  notwithstand- 
ing the  extreme  rapidity  of  the  current.  E.  D.  C. 

P.  102, 1.  333.  Remote  from  ocean  lies  the  Delphic 
plain. 

Falconer  very  properly  writes  Delphic.  Swift  made  a point 
of  writing  Delphos,  instead  of  Delphi;  and  until  I had  perused 
Bentley’s  Dissertation  on  Phalaris,  I thought  it  should  be  thus 
written.  Jortin,  on  this  account,  says  of  Swift,  that  “ he  should 
have  received  instruction  from  whatever  quarter  it  came ; from 
AVotton,  from  Bentley,  or  from  Beelzebub.” — It  was  my  rela- 
tion, Dr.  Wotton,  who  first  noticed  the  absurd  use  of  Delphos 
for  Delphi:  see  the  above  Dissertation  (Preface,  page  46),  where 
Bentley  defends  Dr.  Wotton’s  opinion. 

Few  travellers  have  visited  Delphi,  although  it  is  perhaps  the 
most  interesting,  even  in  its  present  state,  of  all  that  were 
Grecian  cities.  Some  remains  of  its  celebrated  temples  may 
still  be  seen,  astonishing  by  their  prodigious  size  and  workman- 
ship. But  the  beauty  of  the  Castalian  spring,  adorned  with  wild 
and  hanging  foliage,  surrounded  by  the  precipices  and  rocks  of 
Parnassus,  is  unequalled.  E.  D.  C. 

P.  105,  1.  409.  The  impelling  floods^  that  lash  her 
to  the  shore. 

Falconer  was  too  fond  of  similes,  particularly  in  the  third  edi- 
tion, where  the  following  was  introduced  after  the  above  line : — 

“ As  some  benighted  traveller,  through  the  shade. 

Explores  the  devious  path  with  heart  dismay’d. 

While  prowling  savages  behind  him  roar. 

And  yawning  pits,  and  quagmires  lurk  before.” 

^nd  after  line  409,  in  the  same  page. 

“ As  some  fell  conqueror,  frantic  with  success, 

Sheds  o’er  the  nations  ruin  and  distress.” 

Both  these  similes  come  too  quick  after  that  of  the  retreating 


184 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


army.  In  this,  and  other  similar  instances,  I have  preferred  the 
second  edition. 

P.  105. 

After  line  425  the  second  edition  reads, 

“ Such  flaming  horror  Amos’  * son  foretold, 

Down-rushing  on  the  Assyrian  king  of  old.” 

And  in  the  same  page,  subsequent  to  the  fourth  line,  in  the 
same  edition, 

“ Aghast  on  deck  the  shivering  wretches  stood, 

While  fear  and  chill  despair  congeal’d  their  blood: 

And  lo ! all  terrible,  the  King  of  Kings 
Through  the  sad  sky,  array’d  in  lightning,  springs: 
Tremendous  panoply!  his  right  arm  bare, 

Red  burning,  shoots  destruction  through  the  air  I 
Hark!  his  strong  voice,”  &c. 

After  the  two  lines  that  follow  are  also  inserted, 

“ Wide  bursts  in  dazzling  sheets  the  sulphur’d  flame. 

And  dread  concussion  rends  the  ethereal  frame. 

Not  flercer  tremors  shook  the  world  beneath, 

When,  writhing  in  the  pangs  of  cruel  death. 

The  sacred  Lord  of  Life  resign’d  his  breath.” 

P.  106,  1.  453.  Forth  issues  o^er  the  wave  the  weep- 
ing morn. 

It  is  to  be  lamented  that  Falconer  did  not  here  describe  that 
beautiful  phenomenon  called  the  marine  rainbow,  which  is  some- 
times observed  in  a sea  much  agitated.  Twenty  or  thirty  may 
be  seen  together,  and  in  a position  opposite  to  that  of  the  com- 
mon bow.  The  Weeping  Morn  has  been  selected  by  Mr.  Pocock 
as  the  subject  of  a large  marine  picture,  which  he  executed  with 
his  usual  genius. 


* Isaiah,  chap.  xxx. 


TO  CANTO  III. 


185 


P.  108,  1.  489.  Still  they  dread  her  hroaching4o. 

The  gi'eat  difficulty  of  steering  the  ship  at  this  time  before  the 
wind  is  occasioned  by  its  striking  her  on  the  quarter,  when  she 
makes  the  least  angle  on  either  side ; which  often  forces  her  stern 
round,  and  brings  her  broadside  to  the  wind  and  sea;  this  is  an 
effect  of  the  same  cause  which  is  explained  in  the  last  note  of 
the  second  canto.  Falconer. 

P.  108,  1.  496. 

Not  half  so  dreadful  to  ^neai  eyes 
The  straits  of  Sicily  were  seen  to  rise. 

Alluding  to  the  following  beautiful  passage  in  Virgil  ( Jlneid. 
m.  V.  554): 

“ T um  procul  e fluctu  Trinacria  cernitur  ^tna, 

Et  gemitum  ingentem  pelagi,  pulsataque  saxa 
Audimus  longe,  fractasque  ad  littora  voces; 

Exultantque  vada,  atque  aestu  miscenter  arenas. 

Et  pater  Anchises:  ‘Nimirum  base  ilia  Charybdis; 

Hos  Helenus  scopulos,  haec  saxa  horrenda  canebat. 

Eripite,  o socii,  pariterque  insurgite  remis.’ 

Haud  minus  aejussi  faciunt:  primusque  rudentem 
Contorsit  laevas  proram  Palinurus  ad  undas: 

Laevam  cuncta  cohors  remis  ventisque  petivit. 

Tollimur  in  coelum  curvato  gurgite,  et  idem 
Subducta  ad  manes  imos  descendimus  unda. 

Ter  scopuli  clamorem  inter  cava  saxa  dedere; 

Ter  spuraan  elisam  et  rorantia  vidimus  astra.” 

After  this  allusion,  the  second  edition  inserts  the  following 
dnes : — 

So  they  attempt  St.  George’s  shoals  to  clear, 

Which  close  beneath  the  larboard  beam  appear.” 


186 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


P.  no,  1.  560. 

The  vessel,  while  the  dread  event  draws  nigh, 
Seems  more  impatient  der  the  waves  to  jly. 

An  idea  equally  correct  and  beautiful,  and  well  understood 
by  all  who  have  been  engaged  with  a lee  shore.  Having  occa- 
sion to  wear,  the  mind,  anxious  and  care-worn,  becomes  impa- 
tient to  try  the  other  tack;  and  therefore  fancies  that  the  vessel 
flies  towards  danger  with  unwonted  celerity.  N.  P. 

P.  Ill,  1.  582 the  faithful  stay 

Drags  the  main  top-mast  hy  the  cap  away* 

The  main  top-mast  stay  comes  to  the  fore-mast  head,  and 
consequently  depends  upon  the  fore-mast  as  its  support.  The 
cap  is  a strong,  thick  block  of  wood,  used  to  confine  the  upper 
and  lower  masts  together,  as  the  one  is  raised  at  the  head  of  the 
other.  The  principal  caps  of  a ship  are  those  of  the  lower  masts. 

Falconer. 

P.  113,  1.  631.  For  every  wave  now  smites  the 
quivering  yard. 

The  sea  at  this  time  ran  so  high,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
descend  from  the  mast-head  without  being  washed  overboard. 

Falconer. 


P.  119,  1.  793,  &c. 

Down  from  his  neck,  with  blazing  gems  arrafd, 
Thy  image,  lovely  Anna!  hung portraf  d ; 

The  unconscious  figure,  smiling  all  serene. 

This  image  of  the  calm,  unconscious  portrait  is  a most  poet 
ical,  new,  and  striking  combination.  W.  L.  B. 


TO  CANTO  III. 


187 


P.  123,  L 873.  Oh!  then^  to  swell  the  tides  of 
social  woe. 

After  this  line,  the  second  edition  reads, 

“ Thou,  who  hast  taught  the  tragic  harp  to  mourn 
In  early  youth  o’er  Frederic’s  royal  urn.” 

P.  123, 1.  882.  All  thoughts  of  happiness  on  earth 
are  vain. 

“ sed  scilicet  ultima  semper 

Expectanda  dies  homini ; dicique  beatus 
Ante  obitum  nemo  supremaque  funera  debet.” 

. Falconeb. 


;r^:' 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


-.i 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


Bold  is  the  attempt,  in  these  licentious  times, 
\VTien  with  such  towering  strides  sedition  climbs, 
With  sense  or  satire  to  confront  her  power. 

And  charge  her  in  the  great  decisive  hour. 

Bold  is  the  man,  who,  on  her  conquering  day, 
Stands  in  the  pass  of  fate  to  bar  her  way : 

Whose  heart,  by  frowning  arrogance  unawed. 

Or  the  deep-lurking  snares  of  specious  fraud. 
The  threats  of  giant-faction  can  deride, 

And  stem,  with  stubborn  arm,  her  roaring  tide. 
For  him  unnumber’d  brooding  ills  await, 

Scorn,  malice,  insolence,  reproach,  and  hate : 

At  him  who  dares  this  legion  to  defy, 

A thousand  mortal  shafts  in  secret  tly. 

Revenge,  exulting  with  malignant  joy, 

Pursues  the  incautious  victim  to  destroy : 

And  slander  strives,  with  unrelenting  aim, 

To  spit  her  blasting  venom  on  his  name . 

Around  him  faction’s  harpies  flap  their  wings. 
And  rhyming  vermin  dart  their  feeble  stings : 


192 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


In  vain  the  wretch  retreats,  while  in  full  cr j, 
Fierce  on  his  throat  the  hungry  bloodhounds  fly. 
Enclosed  with  perils  thus,  the  conscious  Muse, 
Alarm’d,  though  undismay’d,  her  danger  views; 
Nor  shall  unmanly  terror  now  control 
The  strong  resentment  struggling  in  her  soul, 
While  indignation,  with  resistless  strain. 

Pours  her  full  deluge  through  each  swelling  vein 
By  the  vile  fear  that  chills  the  coward  breast, 

By  sordid  caution  is  her  voice  supprest. 

While  arrogance,  with  big  theatric  rage. 
Audacious  struts  on  power’s  imperial  stage? 
While  o’er  our  country,  at  her  dread  command. 
Black  discord,  screaming,  shakes  her  fatal  brand? 
While,  in  defiance  of  maternal  laws. 

The  sacrilegious  sword  rebellion  draws  ? 

Sliall  she  at  this  important  hour  retire. 

And  quench  in  Lethe’s  wave  her  genuine  fire  ? 
Honour  forbid ! she  fears  no  threatening  foe. 
When  conscious  justice  bids  her  bosom  glow : 

And  while  she  kindles  the  reluctant  flame, 

Let  not  the  prudent  voice  of  friendship  blame. 

She  feels  the  sting  of  keen  resentment  goad. 
Though  guiltless  yet  of  satire’s  thorny  road. 

Let  other  Quixotes,  frantic  with  renown. 

Plant  on  their  brows  a tawdry  paper  crown : 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


193 


While  fools  adore,  and  vassal-bards  obey, 

Let  the  great  monarch  ass  through  Gotham  bray ! 
Our  poet  brandishes  no  mimic  sword. 

To  rule  a realm  of  dunces  self-explored : 

No  bleeding  victims  curse  his  iron  sway, 

Nor  murder’d  reputation  marks  his  way. 

True  to  herself,  unarm’d,  the  fearless  Muse 
Through  reason’s  path  her  steady  course  pursues : 
True  to  herself  advances,  undeterr’d 
By  the  rude  clamours  of  the  savage  herd. 

As  some  bold  surgeon,  with  inserted  steel. 

Probes  deep  the  putrid  sore,  intent  to  heal, 

So  the  rank  ulcers  that  our  patriot  load. 

Shall  she  with  caustic’s  healing  fires  corrode. 

Yet  ere  from  patient  slumber  satire  wakes. 

And  brandishes  the  avenging  scourge  of  snakes ; 
Yet  ere  her  eyes,  with  lightning’s  vivid  ray. 

The  dark  recesses  of  his  heart  display ; 

Let  candour  own  the  undaunted  pilot’s  power, 

Felt  in  severest  danger’s  trying  hour. 

Let  truth  consenting,  with  the  trump  of  fame. 

His  glory,  in  auspicious  strains,  proclaim. 

He  bade  the  tempest  of  the  battle  roar. 

That  thunder’d  o’er  the  deep  from  shore  to  shore. 
How  oft,  amid  the  horrors  of  the  war. 

Chain’d  to  the  bloody  wheels  of  danger’s  car, 

13 


194 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


How  oft  my  bosom  at  thy  name  has  glow’d, 

And  from  my  beating  heart  applause  bestow’d ; 
Applause,  that,  genuine  as  the  blush  of  youth 
Unknown  to  guile,  was  sanctified  by  truth ! 

How  oft  I blest  the  patriot’s  honest  rage. 

That  greatly  dared’ to  lash  the  guilty  age ; 

That,  rapt  with  zeal,  pathetic,  bold,  and  strong. 
Roll’d  the  full  tide  of  eloquence  along ; 

That  power’s  big  torrent  braved  with  manly  pride, 
And  all  corruption’s  venal  arts  defied ! 

When  from  afar  those  penetrating  eyes 
Beheld  each  secret  hostile  scheme  arise, 

Watch’d  every  motion  of  the  faithless  foe. 

Each  plot  o’erturn’d,  and  baffled  every  blow, 

A fond  enthusiast,  kindling  at  thy  name, 

I glow’d  in  secret  with  congenial  flame ; 

While  my  young  bosom,  to  deceit  unknown. 
Believed  all  real  virtue  thine  alone. 

Such  then  he  seem’d,  and  such  indeed  might  be, 
If  truth  with  error  ever  could  agree. 

Sure  satire  never  with  a fairer  hand 
Portray’d  the  object  she  design’d  to  brand. 

Alas ! that  virtue  should  so  soon  decay. 

And  faction’s  wild  applause  thy  heart  betray ! 

The  muse  with  secret  sympathy  relents. 

And  human  failings,  as  a friend,  laments : 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


195 


Bu\  when  those  dangerous  errors,  big  with  fate, 
Spread  discord  and  distraction  through  the  state, 
Reason  should  then  exert  her  utmost  power 
To  guard  our  passions  in  that  fatal  hour. 

There  was  a time,  ere  yet  his  conscious  heart 
Durst  from  the  hardy  path  of  truth  depart, 

While  yet  with  generous  sentiment  it  glow’d, 

A stranger  to  corruption’s  slippery  road ; 

There  was  a time  our  patriot  durst  avow 
Those  honest  maxims  he  despises  now. 

How  did  he  then  his  country’s  wounds  bewail, 

And  at  the  insatiate  German  vulture  rail. 

Whose  cruel  talons  Albion’s  entrails  tore. 

Whose  hungry  maw  was  glutted  with  her  gore ! 

The  mists  of  error,  that  in  darkness  held 
Our  reason,  like  the  sun,  his  voice  dispell’d. 

And  lo ! exhausted,  with  no  power  to  save. 

We  view  Britannia  panting  on  the  wave ; 

Hung  round  her  neck,  a millstone’s  ponderous  weight 
Drags  down  the  struggling  victim  to  her  fate ! 

WTiile  horror  at  the  thought  our  bosom  feels. 

We  bless  the  man  this  horror  who  reveals. 

But  what  alarming  thoughts  the  heart  amaze, 
When  on  this  Janus’  other  face  we  gaze ; 

For,  lo!  possest  of  power’s  imperial  reins, 

Our  chief  those  visionary  ills  disdains ! 


196 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


Alas ! how  soon  the  steady  patriot  turns ! 

In  vain  this  change  astonish’d  England  mourns ! 

Her  vital  blood,  that  pour’d  from  every  vein, 

So  late,  to  fill  the  accursed  Westphalian  drain. 

Then  ceased  to  flow;  the  vulture  now  no  more 
With  unrelenting  rage  her  bowels  tore. 

His  magic  rod  transforms  the  bird  of  prey, 

The  millstone  feels  the  touch  and  melts  away ! 

And,  strange  to  tell,  still  stranger  to  believe. 

What  eyes  ne’er  saw,  and  heart  could  ne’er  conceive, 
At  once,  transplanted  by  the 'sorcerer’s  wand, 
Columbian  hills  in  distant  Austria  stand : 

America,  with  pangs  before  unknown. 

Now  with  Westphalia  utters  groan  for  groan: 

By  sympathy  she  fevers  with  her  fires. 

Burns  as  she  burns,  and  as  she  dies  expires. 

From  maxims  long  adopted  thus  he  flew. 

For  ever  changing,  yet  for  ever  true ; 

Swoln  with  success,  and  with  applause  inflamed. 

He  scorn’d  all  caution,  all  advice  disclaim’d ; 
iVrm’d  with  war’s  thunder,  he  embraced  no  more 
Those  patriot  principles  maintain’d  before. 

Perverse,  inconstant,  obstinate,  and  proud. 

Drunk  with  ambition,  turbulent  and  loud, 

He  wrecks  us  headlong  on  that  dreadful  strand 
He  once  devoted  all  his  powers  to  brand. 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


197 


Our  hapless  country  views  with  weeping  eyes, 

On  every  side,  o’er  whelming  horrors  rise ; 

Drain’d  of  her  wealth,  exhausted  of  her  power, 

And  agonized  as  in  the  mortal  hour ; 

Her  armies  wasted  with  incessant  toils. 

Or  doom’d  to  perish  in  contagious  soils. 

To  guard  some  needy  royal  plunderer’s  throne. 

And  sent  to  fall  in  battles  not  their  own. 

The  enormous  debt  at  home,  though  long  o’ercharged 
With  grievous  burdens  annually  enlarged ; 

Crush’d  with  increasing  taxes  to  the  ground. 

That  suck,  hke  vampires,  every  bleeding  wound ; 
Ground  with  severe  distress  the  industrious  poor. 
Driven  by  the  ruthless  landlord  to  the  door. 

While  thus  our  land  her  hapless  fate  bemoans 
In  secret,  and  with  inward  sorrow  groans  ; 

Though  deck’d  with  tinsel  trophies  of  renown. 

All  gash’d  with  sores,  with  anguish  bending  down, 
Can  yet  some  impious  parricide  appear. 

Who  strives  to  make  this  anguish  more  severe  ? 

Can  one  exist,  so  much  his  country’s  foe. 

To  bid  her  wounds  with  fresh  effusion  flow  ? 

U’here  can ; to  him  in  vain  she  lifts  her  eyes, 

His  soul  relentless  hears  her  piercing  sighs : 
Shameless  of  front,  impatient  of  control. 

He  spurs  her  onward  to  destruction’s  goal. 


198  THE  DEMAGOGUE.  _ 

Nor  yet  content  on  curst  Westphalia’s  shore 
With  mad  profusion  to  exhaust  her  store. 

Still  peace  his  pompous  fulminations  brand, 

As  pirates  tremble  at  the  sight  of  land. 

Still  to  new  wars  the  public  eye  he  turns, 

Defies  all  peril,  and  at  reason  spurns ; 

Till  prest  with  danger,  by  distress  assail’d. 

That  baffled  courage  and  o’er  skill  prevail’d ; 

Till  foundering  in  the  storm  himself  had  brew’d. 
He  strives  at  last  its  horrors  to  elude. 

Some  wretched  shift  must  still  protect  his  name, 
And  to  the  guiltless  head  transfer  his  shame : 
Then  hearing  modest  diffidence  oppose 
His  rash  ad\dce,  that  golden  time  he  chose, 

And  while  big  surges  threaten’d  to  o’erwhelm 
The  ship,  ingloriously  forsook  the  helm. 

But  all  the  events  collected  to  relate, 

Let  us  his  actions  recapitulate. 

He  first  assum’d,  by  mean  perfidious  art, 

Those  patriot  tenets  foreign  to  his  heart; 

Next,  by  his  country’s  fond  applauses  swell’d. 
Thrust  himself  forward  into  power,  and  held 
The  reins  on  principles  which  he  alone, 

Grown  drunk  and  wanton  with  success,  could  own 
Betray’d  her  interest  and  abused  her  trust ; 

r 

Then,  deaf  to  prayers,  forsook  her  in  disgust ; 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


199 


With  tragic  mummery,  and  most  vile  grimace, 
Rode  through  the  city  with  a woful  face, 

As  in  distress,  a patriot  out  of  place ! 

Insults  his  generous  prince,  and  in  the  day 
Of  trouble  skulks,  because  he  cannot  sway; 

In  foreign  climes  embroils  him  with  allies ; 

And  bids  at  home  the  flames  of  discord  rise. 

She  comes ! from  hell  the  exulting  fury  springs, 
With  grim  destruction  sailing  on  her  wings ; 
Around  her  scream  a hundred  harpies  fell, 

A hundred  demons  shriek  with  hideous  yell : 

From  where,  in  mortal  venom  dipt  on  high. 
Full-drawn  the  deadliest  shafts  of  satire  fly. 
Where  Churchill  brandishes  his  clumsy  club, 

And  Wilkes  unloads  his  excremental  tub, 

Down  to  where  Entick,  awkward  and  unclean. 
Crawls  on  his  native  dust,  a worm  obscene : 

While  with  unnumber’d  wings,  from  van  to  rear. 
Myriads  of  nameless  buzzing  drones  appear; 
From  their  dark  cells  the  angry  insects  swarm. 
And  every  little  sting  attempt  to  arm. 

Here  Chaplains,*  Privileges,*  moulder  round, 

^nd  feeble  Scourges,*  rot  upon  the  ground : 


* Certain  poems  intended  to  be  very  satirical  j but,  alas ! we 
refer  our  reader  to  the  Reviews. 


200 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


Here  hungry  Kenrick  strives,  with  fruitless  aim, 
With  Grub-street  slander  to  extend  his  name : 

At  Bruin  flies  the  slavering,  snarling  cur. 

But  only  fills  his  famish’d  jaws  with  fur. 

Here  Baldwin  spreads  the  assassinating  cloak, 
Where  lurking  rancour  gives  the  secret  stroke ; 
While  gorg’d  with  filth,  around  this  senseless  block 
A swarm  of  spider-bards  obsequious  flock ; 

While  his  demure  Welch  goat,  with  lifted  hoof, 

In  Poet’s-corner  hangs  each  flimsy  woof, 

And  frisky  grovm,  attempts,  with  awkward  prance. 
On  wit’s  gay  theatre  to  bleat  and  dance. 

Here,  seiz’d  with  iliac  passion,  mouthing  Leech, 

Too  low,  alas!  for  satire’s  whip  to  reach. 

From  his  black  entrails,  faction’s  common  sewer. 
Disgorges  all  her  excremental  store. 

With  equal  pity  and  regret  the  Muse 
The  thundering  storms  that  rage  around  her  views; 
Impartial  views  the  tides  of  discord  blend, 

Where  lordly  rogues  for  power  and  place  contend ; 
Were  not  her  patriot  heart  with  anguish  torn, 
Would  eye  the  opposing  chiefs  with  equal  scorn. 

Let  freedom’s  deadliest  foes  for  freedom  bawl ; 

Alike  to  her  who  govern  or  who  fall : 

Aloof  she  stands,  all  unconcern’d  and  mute. 

While  the  rude  rabble  bellow,  “ Dotvn  with  Bute  I’* 


THE  demagogue:. 


201 


While  villanj  the  scourge  of  justice  bilks, 

Howl  on,  ye  ruffians,  “ Liberty  and  Wilkes ! 

Let  some  soft  mummy  of  a peer,  who  stains 
His  rank,  some  sodden  lump  of  ass’s  brains. 

To  that  abandon’d  wretch  his  sanction  give, 

Support  his  slander,  and  his  wants  relieve : 

Let  the  great  hydra  roar  aloud  for  Pitt, 

And  power  and  wisdom  all  to  him  submit : 

Let  proud  ambition’s  sons,  with  hearts  severe, 

Like  parricides,  their  mother’s  bowels  tear ; 
Sedition  her  triumphant  flag  display. 

And  in  embodied  ranks  her  troops  array, 

While  coward  justice,  trembling  on  her  seat. 

Like  a vile  slave  descends  to  lick  her  feet ! 

Nor  here  let  censure  draw  her  awful  blade. 

If  from  her  theme  the  wayward  Muse  has  stray’d : 
Sometimes  the  impetuous  torrent,  o’er  its  mounds 
Redundant  burstiTTg,  swamps  the  adjacent  grounds ; 
But  rapid,  and  impatient  of  delay. 

Through  the  deep  channel  still  pursues  its  way. 

Our  pilot  now  retired,  no  pleasure  knows. 

But  every  man  and  measure  to  oppose ; 

Like  JEsop’s  cur,  still  snarling  and  perverse. 
Bloated  with  envy,  to  mankind  a curse. 

No  more  at  council  his  advice  will  lend, 

But  with  all  others  who  advise  contend. 


202 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


He  bids  distraction  o’er  his  country  blaze, 

Then,  swelter’d  with  revenge,  retreats  to  Hayes : * 


* After  reflecting  on  the  various  events  by  which  this  extrar 
ordinary  person  is  characterized,  we  cannot  resist  the  temptation 
of  quoting  a few  anecdotes  from  IMachiavel,  relative  to  a man  cf 
a very  similar  complexion  and  constitution,  who  was  also  distin- 
guished by  a train  of  incidents  pretty  nearly  resembling  those  we 
have  mentioned  above;  although  he  possibly  never  anticipated 
the  similitude  of  fortune  and  character  that  might  happen 
between  him  and  any  of  his  progeny.  Speaking  of  the  govern- 
ment of  Florence,  our  historian  informs  us,  that  “ Luca  Pitt,  a 
bold  and  resolute  man,  being  now  made  gonfaloniere  of  justice, 
having  entered  upon  his  office,  was  very  importunate  with  the 
people  to  appoint  a balia ; but  perceiving  it  was  to  no  purpose, 
he  not  only  treated  those  that  were  members  of  the  council  with 
great  insolence,  and  called  them  opprobrious  names,  but  threat- 
ened them,  and  soon  after  put  his  threats  in  execution : for  hav- 
ing filled  the  palace  with  armed  men,  on  the  eve  of  St.  Lorenzo, 
in  the  month  of  August,  1453,  he  called  the  people  together  into 
the  piazza,  and  there  compelled  them,  by  force  of  arms,  to  do 
that  which  they  would  not  so  much  as  hear  of  before.  Pitt 
had  also  very  rich  presents,  not  only  from  Cosimo  and  the  sign 
iory,  but  from  all  the  principal  citizens,  who  vied  with  each 
other  in  their  generosity  to  him;  so  that  it  was  thought  he  had 
above  twenty  thousand  ducats  given  him  at  that  time:  after 
which  he  became  so  popular,  that  the  city  was  no  longer  gov- 
erned by  Cosimo  di  Medici,  but  by  Luca  Pitt.  This  inspired  him 
with  vanity.  After  this  he  had  recourse  to  very  extraordinary 
means;  for  he  not  only  extorted  more  and  greater  presents 
from  the  chief  citizens,  but  also  made  the  commonalty  supply 
him  with  workmen  and  artificers.”  Machiavel’s  Hist.  Florence. 
This  has  an  unlucky  resemblance  to  a certain  great  person’s 
driving  through  the  city  with  borrowed  horses,  and  being  offered 
V)  have  his  horses  unyoked,  and  his  chariot  drawn  by  his  good 
Triends  the  mob.  We  shall,  in  due  time  and  place,  give  some 
account  of  the  fall  of  i\Ir.  Luca  Pitt,  and  the  contempt  with 
which,  after  some  particular  events,  he  was  universally  regarded 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


203 


Swallows  the  pension ; but,  aware  of  blame, 
Transfers  the  proffer’d  peerage  to  his  dame. 

The  felon  thus  of  old,  his  name  to  save, 

His  pilfer’d  mutton  to  a brother  gave. 

But  should  some  frantic  wretch,  whom  all  men 
know 

To  nature  and  humanity  a foe, 

Deaf  to  the  widow’s  moan  and  orphan’s  cry, 

And  dead  to  shame  and  friendship’s  social  tie ; 
Should  such  a miscreant,  at  the  hour  of  death, 

To  thee  his  fortunes  and  domains  bequeath ; 

With  cruel  rancour  wresting  from  his  heirs 
What  nature  taught  them  to  expect  as  theirs ; 
Wouldst  thou  with  this  detested  robber  join, 

Their  legal  wealth  to  plunder  and  purloin? 

Forbid  it,  Heaven  ! thou  canst  not  be  so  base, 

To  blast  thy  name  with  infamous  disgrace ! 

The  Muse  who  wakes  yet  triumphs  o’er  thy  hate, 
Dares  not  so  black  a thought  anticipate. — 

By  Heaven,  the  Muse  her  ignorance  betrays  I 
For  while  a thousand  eyes  with  wonder  gaze. 
Though  gorged  and  glutted  with  his  country’s  store. 
The  vulture  pounces  on  the  shining  ore ; 

In  his  strong  talons  gripes  the  golden  prey, 

And  from  the  weeping  orphan  bears  away. 

The  great,  the  alarming  deed  is  yet  to  come, 


204 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


That,  big  with  fate,  strikes  expectation  dumb. 

0 1 patient,  injured  England,  yet  unveil 
Thy  eyes,  and  listen  to  the  Muse’s  tale, 

That  true  as  honour,  unadorn’d  with  art. 

Thy  wrongs  in  fair  succession  shall  impart ! 

Fre  yet  the  desolating  god  of  war 
Had  crush’d  pale  Europe  with  his  iron  car. 

Had  shook  her  shores  with  terrible  alarms, 

And  thunder’d  o’er  the  trembling  deep,  “ To  arms 
In  climes  remote,  beyond  the  setting  sun. 

Beyond  the  Atlantic  wave,  his  rage  begun. 

Alas,  poor  country,  how  with  pangs  unknown 
To  Britain  did  thy  filial  bosom  groan ! 

What  savage  armies  did  thy  realms  invade. 
Unarm’d,  and  distant  from  maternal  aid ; 

Thy  cottages  with  cruel  flames  consumed, 

And  the  sad  owner  to  destruction  doom’d. 
Mangled  with  wounds,  with  pungent  anguish  torn, 
Or  left  to  perish  naked  and  forlorn  ! 

What  carnage  reek’d  upon  thy  ruin’d  plain ! 

What  infants  bled ! what  virgins  shriek’d  in  vain  I 
In  every  look  distraction  seem’d  to  glare. 

Each  heart  was  rack’d  with  horror  and  despair. 
To  Albion  then,  with  groans  and  piercing  cries, 
America  lift  up  her  dying  eyes ; 

To  generous  Albion  pour’d  forth  aU  her  pain. 


THE  DEMAGOGUE, 


205 


To  wliom  the  wretched  never  wept  in  vain. 

She  heard,  and  instant  to  relieve  her  flew; 

Her  arm  the  gleaming  sword  of  vengeance  drew ; 
Far  o’er  the  ocean  wave  her  voice  was  known, 
That  shook  the  deep  abyss  from  zone  to  zone. 

She  bade  the  thunder  of  the  battle  glow, 

And  pour’d  the  storm  of  lightning  on  the  foe ; 

Nor  ceased  till,  crown’d  with  victory  complete. 
Pale  Spain  and  France  lay  trembling  at  her  feet.* 


♦ Although  our  author  has  no  present  inclination  to  enter  into 
political  controversy,  yet  he  cannot  avoid  citing  an  article  from 
one  of  the  modern  dictionaries,  which  in  some  measure  is  con- 
nected with  this  part  of  his  subject,  and  exhibits  a view  of  the 
fidelity  and  gratitude  of  our  fellow-subjects  in  America. 

We  are  informed  in  the  article  referred  to,  that  a “ cartel  in  the 
marine  is  a ship  provided  in  time  of  war  to  exchange  the  prisoners 
of  any  two  hostile  powers;  also  to  carry  any  particular  request 
or  proposal  from  the  one  to  the  other:  for  this  reason  she  is  par- 
ticularly commanded  to  carry  no  cargo  or  arms,  only  a single 
gun  for  firing  signals. 

“ Our  honest  Americans,  however,  who  have  so  sorely  gideved 
of  late  for  paying  a small  part  of  the  great  taxes  of  this  country, 
although  demanded  for  their  own  particular  protection,  made 
not  only  no  scruple  to  disobey  and  despise  this  regulation  of 
cartels  during  the  late  war,  but,  on  the  contrary,  gave  continual 
supplies  of  provisions  to  our  enemies  in  the  West  Indies,  and 
thereby  recovered  them,  and  recruited  their  fallen  spirits,  at  a 
time  when  they  were  gasping  under  the  weight  of  our  arms. 
With  so  much  address,  indeed,  did  these  oppres  jed  and  unfor- 
tunate traders  conduct  this  scheme,  that  ten  or  twelve  cartels 
being  laden  at  the  same  time  with  beef,  pork,  bread,  flour,  &c. 
sailed  together  for  the  French  islands,  and,  in  order  to  evade  the 
strict  examination  of  our  ships  of  war,  were  provided  with  a 


206 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


Her  fears  dispell’d,  and  all  her  foes  removed, 
Her  fertile  grounds  industriously  improved, 


guardian  privateer,  equipped  by  the  same  expert  owners,  to 
seize  their  own  vessels,  and  direct  their  course  to  the  places  of 
their  first  destination ; but  if  they  were  examined  by  our  ships 
of  war,  to  an  English  port.  But  this  clumsy  trick  did  not  long 
escape  the  vigilance  of  our  naval  officers,  who  found  that  the 
fellows  serit  abroad,  by  way  of  commanders  or  prize-masters, 
were  utterly  ignorant,  and  incapable  of  piloting  any  ship;  and 
of  consequence  only  sent  to  elude  their  scrutiny. 

“ The  most  barefaced  piece  of  efirontery,  however,  that  was 
ever  committed  of  this  kind,  was  the  seizing  an  armed  vessel 
fitted  in  Philadelphia  to  take  these  illegal  cartels.  She  was 
commanded  by  a gentleman  whom  the  majority  of  the  mer- 
chants in  that  city  joined  to  oppose  and  distress.  They  em- 
ployed a crew  of  ruffians,  who  seized  his  vessel  openly,  in  the 
most  unwarranted  and  lawless  manner,  and  brought  her  up  in 
triumph  to  the  town,  when  she  had  only  five  men  aboard : and 
so  inveterate  was  their  hatred  to  the  commander,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  country  precipitately,  as  being  in  danger 
of  his  life.” 

There  cannot  be  a stronger  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  the 
above  account,  than  the  following  letter  of  Mr.  Pitt:  — 

Copy  of  a letter  from  Mr.  Secretary  Pitt  to  the  several  governors 
and  councils  in  North  America,  relating  to  the  fiag  of  truce 
trade. 

“Whitehall,  August  24,  1760. 

“ Gentlemen. 

“ The  commanders  of  his  Majesty’s  forces  and  fieets  in  North 
A-merica  and  the  West  Indies  have  transmitted  certain  and 
repeated  intelligences  of  an  illegal  and  most  pernicious  trade 
carried  on  by  the  king’s  subjects  in  North  America  and  the 
West  Indies,  as  well  to  the  French  islands  as  to  the  French 
settlements  on  the  continent  in  America,  and  particularly  to 
the  rivers  Mobile  and  Mississippi ; by  which  the  enemies,  to  the 
great  reproach  and  detriment  of  government,  are  supplied  with 


THE  DEMAC^OGUE. 


207 


Her  towns  with  trade,  with  fleets  her  harbours 
crown’d, 

And  plenty  smiling  on  her  plains  around ; 

Thus  blest  with  all  that  commerce  could  supply, 
America  regards  with  jealous  eye, 


provisions  and  other  necessaries ; whereby  they  are  principally, 
if  not  alone,  enabled  to  sustain  and  protract  this  long  and  ex- 
pensive war.  And  it  further  appearing,  that  large  sums  of 
bullion  are  sent  by  the  King’s  subjects  to  the  above  places,  in 
return  whereof  commodities  are  taken  which  interfere  with  the 
product  of  the  British  colonies  themselves,  in  open  contempt 
of  the  authority  of  the  mother-country,  as  well  as  the  most 
manifest  prejudice  of  the  manufacturers  and  trade  of  Great 
Britain ; in  order,  therefore,  to  put  the  most  speedy  and  effectual 
stop  to  such  flagitious  practices,  so  utterly  subversive  of  all  laws, 
and  so  highly  repugnant  to  the  well-being  of  this  kingdom : 

“It  is  his  Majesty’s  express  will  and  pleasure,  that  you  do 
forthwith  make  the  strictest  and  most  diligent  inquiry  into  the 
state  of  this  dangerous  and  ignominious  trade;  and  that  yon  do 
use  every  means  in  your  power  to  detect  and  discover  persons 
concerned  either  as  principals  or  accessaries  therein;  and  that 
you  do  take  every  step  authorized  by  law  to  bring  all  such 
heinous  ofienders  to  the  most  exemplary  and  condign  punish- 
ment : and  you  will,  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  from  time  to  time, 
transmit  to  me,  for  the  King’s  information,  full  and  particular 
accounts  of  the  progress  you  shall  have  made  in  the  execution 
of  this  his  Majesty’s  commands,  to  the  which  the  King  expects 
that  you  pay  the  most  exact  obedience.  And  you  are  further  to 
use  your  utmost  endeavours  to  trace  out  and  investigate  the 
various  artifices  and  evasions  by  which  the  dealers  in  this  ini- 
quitious  intercourse  find  means  to  cover  their  criminal  proceed- 
'ngs,  and  to  elude  the  law;  in  order  that  from  such  lights  due 
and  timely  considerations  may  be  had  what  further  provision 
may  be  necessary  to  restrain  an  evil  of  such  extensive  and  per- 
il! oious  consequences.  I am,  &c.” 


208 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


And  canker’d  heart,  the  parent,  who  so  late 
Had  snatch’d  her  gasping  from  the  jaws  of  fate ; 
Who  now,  with  wars  for  her  begun,  relax’d, 

With  grievous  aggravated  burdens  tax’d. 

Her  treasures  wasted  by  a hungry  brood 
Of  cormorants,  that  suck  her  vital  blood, 

WTio  now  of  her  demands  that  tribute  due. 

For  whom  alone  the  avenging  sword  she  drew. 

Scarce  had  America  the  just  request 
Received,  when  kindling  in  her  faithless  breast 
Resentment  glows,  enraged  sedition  burns. 

And,  lo ! the  mandate  of  our  laws  she  spurns ! 

Her  secret  hate,  incapable  of  shame 
Or  gratitude,  incenses  to  a flame. 

Derides  our  power,  bids  insurrection  rise, 

Insults  our  honour,  and  our  laws  defies : 

O’er  all  her  coasts  is  heard  the  audacious  roar, 

“ England  shall  rule  America  no  more ! ” 

Soon  as  on  Britain’s  shore  the  alarm  was  heard, 
Stern  indignation  in  her  look  appear’d ; 

Yet,  loth  to  punish,  she  her  scourge  withheld 
From  her  perfidious  sons  who  thus  rebell’d : 

Now  stung  with  anguish,  now  with  rage  assail’d, 
Till  pity  in  her  soul  at  last  prevail’d. 

Determined  not  to  draw  her  penal  steel 
Till  fair  persuasion  made  her  last  appeal 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


209 


And  now  the  great  decisive  hour  drew  nigh: 

She  on  her  darling  patriot  cast  her  eje ; 

His  voice  like  thunder  will  support  her  cause, 
Enforce  her  dictates,  and  sustain  her  laws ; 

Rich  with  her  spoils,  his  sanction  will  dismay, 

And  bid  the  insurgents  tremble  and  obey. 

He  comes!  — but  where,  the  amazing  theme 
to  hit. 

Discover  language  or  ideas  fit? 

Splay-footed  words,  that  hector,  bounce,  and  swag- 
ger. 

The  sense  to  puzzle,  and  the  brain  to  stagger  I 
Our  patriot  comes  1 with  frenzy  fired,  the  Muse 
With  allegoric  eye  his  figure  views : — 

Like  the  grim  portress  of  hell-gate  he  stands, 
Bellona’s  scourge  hangs  trembling  in  his  hands ; 
Around  him,  fiercer  than  the  ravenous  shark, 

“ A cry  of  hell-hounds  never-ceasing  bark ; ” 

And  lo  ! the  enormous  giant  to  bedeck, 

A golden  millstone  hangs  upon  his  neck ! 

On  him  ambition’s  vulture  darts  her  claws. 

And  with  voracious  rage  his  liver  gnaws. 

Our  patriot  comes  ! — the  buckles  of  whose  shoes 
Not  Cromwell’s  self  was  worthy  to  unloose. 

Repeat  his  name  in  thunder  to  the  skies, 

14 


210 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


Ye  hills  fall  prostrate,  and  je  vales  arise ! 
Through  faction’s  wilderness  prepare  the  way  ; 
Prepare,  ye  listening  senates,  to  obey ; 

The  idol  of  the  mob,  behold  him  stand, 

The  alpha  and  omega  of  the  land ! 

Methinks  I hear  the  bellowing  demagogue 
Dumb-sounding  declamations  disembogue ; 
Expressions  of  immeasurable  length. 

Where  pompous  jargon  fills  the  place  of  strength ; 
Where  fulminating,  rumbling  eloquence, 

With  loud  theatric  rage,  bombards  the  sense ; 

And  words,  deep  rank’d  in  horrible  array 
Exasperated  metaphors  convey. 

With  these  auxiliaries,  drawn  up  at  large. 

He  bids  enraged  sedition  beat  the  charge ; 

From  England’s  sanguine  hope  his  aid  withdraws, 
And  lists  to  guide  in  Insurrection’s  cause. 

And  lo  ! where,  in  her  sacrilegious  hand. 

The  parricide  lifts  high  her  burning  brand : 

Go,  while  she  yet  suspends  her  impious  aim, 

With  those  infernal  lungs  arouse  the  flame  ! 
Though  England  merits  not  her  least  regard, 

Thy  friendly  voice  gold  boxes  shall  reward. 

A^rise,  embark,  prepare  thy  martial  car, 

To  lead  her  armies  and  provoke  the  war ! 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


211 


Rebellion  wakes,  impatient  of  delay, 

The  signal  her  black  ensigns  to  display.^ 

V 

To  thee,  whose  soul,  all  steadfast  and  serene, 
Beholds  the  tumults  that  distract  our  scene. 
And,  in  the  calmer  seats  of  wisdom  placed. 
Enjoys  the  sweets  of  sentiment  and  taste  ; 

To  thee,  0 Marius ! whom  no  factions  sway, 
The  impartial  Muse  devotes  her  honest  lay. 


♦ Luca  Pitt  continued  at  Florence,  presuming  upon  his  late 

alliance,  and  the  promises  which  Pietro  had  made  him 

But  amongst  all  the  changes  that  ensued  upon  this  revolution, 
nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  case  of  Luca  Pitt,  who 
soon  began  to  experience  the  difference  betwixt  prosperity  and 
adversity,  betwixt  living  in  authority  and  falling  into  disgrace. 
His  house,  which  used  to  be  crowded  with  swarms  of  followers 
and  dependants,  was  now  as  unfrequented  as  a desert;  and  his 
friends  and  relations  were  not  only  afraid  of  being  seen  with 
him,  but  durst  not  even  salute  him  if  they  met  him  in  the  street; 
some  of  them  having  been  deprived  of  their  honours,  others  of 
their  estates,  and  all  of  them  threatened. 

The  magnificent  palaces  which  he  had  begun  to  build  were 
abandoned  by  the  workmen ; the  services  he  had  formerly  done 
to  any  one  were  requited  with  injuries  and  abuse;  and  the 
Qonours  he  had  confen'ed,  with  infamy  and  taunts.  Many  who 
had  made  him  valuable  presents,  now  came  to  demand  them 
again,  as  only  lent;  and  others,  who  before  used  to  flatter  and 
extol  him  to  the  skies,  in  these  circumstances,  loaded  him  with 
contumely,  and  reproaches  of  ingratitude  and  violence ; so  that 
he  heartily  repented,  though  too  late,  that  he  had  not  followed 
Nicolo  Soderini’s  advice,  and  preferred  an  honourable  death  to  a 
' ife  of  ignominy  and  contempt. — Mach.  Hist.  Flor. 


212 


THE  DEMAGOGUE. 


In  her  fond  breast  no  prostituted  aim, 

Nor  venal  hope,  assumes  fair  friendship’s  name. 
Sooner  shall  Churchill’s  feeble  meteor-ray, 

That  led  our  foundering  demagogue  astray, 

Darkling  to  grope  and  flounce  in  error’s  night. 
Eclipse  great  Mansfield’s  strong  meridian  light. 
Than  shall  the  change  of  fortune,  time,  or  place, 

Thy  generous  friendship  in  my  heart  eflace ! 

0 ! whether  wandering  from  thy  country  far, 

And  plunged  amid  the  murdering  scenes  of  war ; 

Or  in  the  blest  retreat  of  virtue  laid. 

Where  contemplation  spreads  her  awful  shade ; 

If  ever  to  forget  thee  I have  power. 

May  Heaven  desert  me  at  my  latest  hour ! 

Still  satire  bids  my  bosom  beat  to  arms. 

And  throb  with  irresistible  alarms. 

Like  some  full  river  charged  with  falling  showers, 
Still  o’er  my  breast  her  swelling  deluge  pours. 

But  rest  and  silence  now,  who  wait  beside. 

With  their  strong  flood-gates  bar  the  impetuous  tide. 


A POEM 


SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS 
FREDERIC  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 

From  the  big  horror  of  war’s  hoarse  alarms, 
And  the  tremendous  clang  of  clashing  arms, 
Descend,  mjMuse!  a deeper  scene  to  draw 
(A  scene  will  hold  the  listening  world  in  awe)* 

Is  my  intent : Melpomene  inspire. 

While,  with  sad  notes,  I strike  the  trembling  lyre ! 
And  may  my  lines  with  easy  motion  flow. 

Melt  as  they  move,  and  fill  each  heart  with  woe  ; 
Big  with  the  sorrow  it  describes,  my  song. 

In  solemn  pomp,  majestic,  move  along. 

0 bear  me  to  some  awful  silent  glade 
Where  cedars  form  an  unremitting  shade : 

Where  never  track  of  human  feet  was  known ; 
Where  never  cheerful  light  of  Phoebus  shone ; 
Where  chirping  linnets  warble  tales  of  love, 


By  awe,  here,  is  meant  attention. 


214 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 


And  hoarser  winds  howl  murmuring  through  the  grove 
Where  some  unhappy  wretch  aye  mourns  his  doom, 
Deep  melancholy  wandering  through  the  gloom ; 
Where  solitude  and  meditation  roam, 

And  where  no  dawning  glimpse  of  hope  can  come. 
Place  me  in  such  an  unfrequented  shade, 

To  speak  to  none  but  with  the  mighty  dead; 

To  assist  the  pouring  rains  with  brimful  eyes. 

And  aid  hoarse  howling  Boreas  with  my  sighs. 

When  winter’s  horrors  left  Britannia’s  isle. 

And  spring  in  blooming  verdure  ’gan  to  smile ; 

When  rills,  unbound,  began  to  purl  along. 

And  warbling  larks  renew’d  the  vernal  song ; 

When  sprouting  roses,  deck’d  in  crimson  dye. 

Began  to  bloom, 

Hard  fate  ! then,  noble  F rederic,  didst  thou  die : 
Doom’d  by  inexorable  fate’s  decree. 

The  approaching  summer  ne’er  on  earth  to  see ; 

In  thy  parch’d  vitals  burning  fevers  rage. 

Whose  flame  the  virtue  of  no  herbs  assuage ; 

No  cooling  medicine  can  its  heat  allay. 

Relentless  destiny  cries,  “No  delay.” 

Ye  powers,  and  must  a prince  so  noble  die. 

Whose  equal  breathes  not  under  the  ambient  sky? 
Ah ! must  he  die,  then,  in  youth’s  full-blown  prime, 
Cut  by  the  scythe  of  all-devouring  time  ? 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 


215 


Yes,  Fate  has  doom’d ! his  soul  now  leaves  its  weight, 
And  all  are  under  the  decree  of  fate ; 

The  irrevocable  doom  of  destiny 
Pronounced,  “ All  mortals  must  submissive  die.” 
The  princes  wait  around  with  weeping  eyes, 

Ajid  the  dome  echoes  all  with  piercing  cries ; 

AV  ith  doleful  noise  the  matrons  scream  around, 

With  female  shrieks  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound  : 

A dismal  noise ! now  one  promiscuous  roar 
Cries,  “ Ah ! the  noble  Frederic  is  no  more  !” 

The  chief  reluctant  yields  his  latest  breath ; 

His  eye-lids  settle  in  the  shades  of  death : 

Dark  sable  shades  present  before  each  eye, 

And  the  deep  vast  abyss,  eternity. 

Through  perpetuity’s  expanse  he  springs, 

And  o’er  the  vast  profound  he  shoots  on  wings : 

The  soul  to  distant  regions  steers  her  flight, 

And  sails  incumbent  on  inferior  night : 

With  vast  celerity  she  shoots  away, 

And  meets  the  regions  of  eternal  day, 

To  shine  for  ever  in  the  heavenly  birth. 

And  leave  the  body  here  to  rot  on  earth. 

The  melancholy  patriots  round  it  wait. 

And  mourn  the  royal  hero’s  timeless  fate. 
Disconsolate  they  move,  a mournful  band ! 

In  solemn  pomp  they  march  along  the  strand : 


216 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OP 


The  noble  chief,  interr’d  in  youthful  bloom, 

Lies  in  the  dreary  regions  of  the  tomb. 

Adown  Augusta’s  pallid  visage  flow 
The  living  pearls  with  unaffected  woe : 

Disconsolate,  hapless,  see  pale  Britain  mourn, 
Abandon’d  isle,  forsaken  and  forlorn ! 

With  desperate  hands  her  bleeding  breast  she  beats 
While  o’er  her,  frowning,  grim  destruction  threats  : 
She  mourns  with  heart-felt  grief,  she  rends  her  hair, 
And  fills  with  piercing  cries  the  echoing  air. 

Well  may’st  ihou  mourn  thy  patriot’s  timeless  end, 
Thy  Muse’s  patron,  and  thy  merchant’s  friend. 

What  heart  shall  pity  thy  full-flowing  grief? 

What  hand  now  deign  to  give  thy  poor  relief? 

To  encourage  arts,  whose  bounty  now  shall  flow, 
And  learned  science  to  promote,  bestow  ? 

Who  now  protect  thee  from  the  hostile  frown. 

And  to  the  injured  just  return  his  own  ? 

From  usury  and  oppression  who  shall  guard 
The  helpless,  and  the  threatening  ruin  ward  ? 

Alas ! the  truly  noble  Briton ’s  gone. 

And  left  us  here  in  ceaseless  woe  to  moan ! 
Impendmg  desolation  hangs  around. 

And  ruin  hovers  o’er  the  trembling  ground : 

The  blooming  spring  droops  her  enamell’d  head, 
Her  glories  wither,  and  her  flowers  all  fade : 


THE  PRINCE  OiT  WALES. 


217 


The  sprouting  leaves  already  drop  away ; 

Languish  the  living  herbs  with  pale  decay : 

The  bowing  trees,  see ! o’er  the  blasted  heath, 
Depending,  bend  beneath  the  weight  of  death : 
Wrapp’d  in  the  expansive  gloom,  the  lightnings  play. 
Hoarse  thunder  mutters  through  the  aerial  way : 

All  nature  feels  the  pangs,  the  storms  renew. 

And  sprouts,  with  fatal  haste,  the  baleful  yew. 

Some  power  avert  the  threatening  horrid  weight, 
And,  godlike,  prop  Britannia’s  sinking  state ! 
Minerva,  hover  o’er  young  George’s  soul ! 

May  sacred  wisdom  all  his  deeds  control. 

Exalted  grandeur  in  each  action  shine. 

His  conduct  all  declare  the  youth  divine  ! 

Me  thinks  I see  him  shine  a glorious  star. 

Gentle  in  peace,  but  terrible  in  war : 

Methinks  each  region  does  his  praise  resound, 

And  nations  tremble  at  his  name  around. 

His  fame,  through  every  distant  kingdom  rung. 
Proclaims  him  of  the  race  from  whence  he  sprung : 
So  sable  smoke,  in  volumes  curls  on  high, 

Heaps  roll  on  heaps,  and  blacken  all  the  sky : 
Already  so,  his  fame,  methinks,  is  hurl’d 
Around  the  admiring, venerating  world. 

So  the  benighted  wanderer,  on  his  way, 

Laments  the  absence  of  all-cheering  day ; 


218 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 


Far  distant  from  his  friends  and  native  home, 

And  not  one  glimpse  does  glimmer  through  the  gloom. 
In  thought  he  breathes,  each  sigh  his  latest  breath, 
Present,  each  meditation,  pits  of  death: 

Irregular,  wild  chimeras  fill  his  soul. 

And  death,  and  dying,  every  step  control: 

Till  from  the  east  there  breaks  a purple  gleam ; 

His  fears  then  vanish  as  a fleeting  dream. 

Hid  in  a cloud  the  sun  first  shoots  his  ray, 

Then  breaks  effulgent  on  the  illumined  day ; 

We  see  no  spot  then  in  the  flaming  rays, 

Confused  and  lost  within  the  excessive  blaze. 


ODE  ON  THE  DUKE  OE  YORK’S  SECOND 


DEPARTURE  FROM  ENGLAND 
AS  REAR-ADMIRAL.  WRITTEN  ABOARD  THE 
ROYAL  GEORGE. 

Again  the  royal  streamers  play ! 

To  glory  Edward  hastes  away ; 

Adieu,  ye  happy  silvan  bowers, 

Where  pleasure’s  sprightly  tlirong  await ! 
Ye  domes,  where  regal  grandeur  towers 
In  purple  ornaments  of  state  ! 

Ye  scenes  where  virtue’s  sacred  strain 
Bids  the  tragic  muse  complain ! 

Where  satire  treads  the  comic  stage, 

To  scourge  and  mend  a venal  age ; 

Where  music  pours  the  soft,  melodious  lay, 
And  melting  symphonies  congenial  play ! 

Ye  silken  sons  of  ease,  who  dwell 
In  flowery  vales  of  peace,  farewell ! 

In  vain  the  goddess  of  the  myrtle  grove 
Her  charms  ineffable  displays ; 

In  vain  she  calls  to  happier  realms  of  love, 
Which  Spring’s  unfading  bloom  arrays ; 


220 


ODE, 


In  vain  her  living  roses  blow, 

And  ever-vernal  pleasures  grow. 

The  gentle  sports  of  youth  no  more 
Allure  him  to  the  peaceful  shore : 

Arcadian  ease  no  longer  charms, 

For  war  and  fame  alone  can  please. 

His  thi'obbing  bosom  beats  to  arms, 

To  war  the  hero  moves,  through  storms  and  wintry  sea 

CHORUS. 

The  gentle  sports  of  youth  no  more 
Allure  him  to  the  peaceful  shore, 

For  war  and  fame  alone  can  please ; 

To  war  the  hero  moves,  through  storms  and  wintry  sear 

Though  danger’s  hostile  train  appears 
To  thwart  the  course  that  honour  steers. 
Unmoved  he  leads  the  rugged  way. 

Despising  peril  and  dismay. 

His  country  calls ; to  guard  her  laws,* 

Lo ! every  joy  the  gallant  youth  resigns ; 

The  avenging  naval  sword  he  draws. 

And  o’er  the  waves  conducts  her  martial  lines. 
Hark ! his  sprightly  clarions  play ; 

Follow  where  he  leads  the  way  ; 


ODE. 


221 


The  piercing  fife,  the  sounding  drum, 

Tell  the  deeps  their  master ’s  come. 

CHORUS. 

Hark ! his  sprightly  clarions  play  ; 
Follow  where  he  leads  the  way ; 

The  piercing  fife,  the  sounding  drum, 
Tell  the  deeps  their  master ’s  come. 

Thus  Alcmena’s  warlike  son 
The  thorny  course  of  virtue  run, 

When,  taught  by  her  unerring  voice, 

He  made  the  glorious  choice. 

Severe,  indeed,  the  attempt  he  knew, 
Youth’s  genial  ardours  to  subdue : 

For  pleasure,  Venus’  lovely  form  assumed; 

Her  glowing  charms,  divinely  bright. 

In  all  the  pride  of  beauty  bloom’d. 

And  struck  his  ravish’d  sight. 

Transfix’d,  amazed, 

Alcides  gazed : 

Enchanting  grace 
Adorn’d  her  face, 

And  all  his  changing  looks  confest 
The  alternate  passions  in  his  breast. 

Her  swelling  bosom  half  reveal’d, 


222 


ODE. 


Her  eyes  that  kindling  raptures  fir’d, 

A thousand  tender  pains  instill’d, 

A thousand  flatt’ring  thoughts  inspired : 
Persuasion’s  sweetest  language  hung 
In  melting  accent  on  her  tongue. 

Deep  in  his  heart,  the  winning  tale 
Infused  a magic  power ; 

She  prest  him  to  the  rosy  vale, 

And  show’d  the  Elysian  bower : 

Her  hand,  that  trembling  ardours  move. 
Conducts  him  blushing  to  the  blest  alcove : 
Ah  ! see,  o’erpower’d  by  beauty’s  charms, 
And  won  by  love’s  resistless  arms. 

The  captive  yields  to  nature’s  soft  alarms  I 

CHORUS. 

Ah ! see,  o’erpower’d  by  beauty’s  charms, 
And  won  by  love’s  resistless  arms, 

The  captive  yields  to  nature’s  soft  alarms ! 

Assist,  ye  guardian  powers  above  ! 

From  ruin  save  the  son  of  Jove  ! 

By  heavenly  mandate  Virtue  came. 

And  check’d  the  fatal  flame. 

Swift  as  the  quivering  needle  wheels. 
Whose  point  the  magnet’s  influence  feels, 


ODE. 


223 


Inspired  with  awe, 

He,  turning,  saw 
The  nymph  divine 
Transcendent  shine ; 

And,  while  he  view’d  the  godlike  maid, 
His  heart  a sacred  impulse  sway’d : 

His  eyes  with  ardent  motion  roll. 

And  love,  regret,  and  hope,  divide  his  souL 
But  soon  her  words  his  pain  destroy. 

And  all  the  numbers  of  his  heart. 
Return’d  by  her  celestial  art. 

Now  sweird  to  strains  of  nobler  joy. 
Instructed  thus  by  Virtue’s  lore. 

His  happy  steps  the  realms  explore 
Where  guilt  and  error  are  no  more : 

The  clouds  that  veil’d  his  intellectual  ray. 
Before  his  breath  dispelling,  melt  away : 
Broke  loose  from  pleasure’s  glittering  chain. 
He  scorn’d  her  soft  inglorious  reign : 
Con^dnced,  resolved,  to  virtue  then  he  turn’d. 
And  in  his  breast  paternal  glory  burn’d. 

CHORUS. 

Broke  loose  from  pleasure’s  glittering  chain, 
He  scorn’d  her  soft  inglorious  reign : 


224 


ODE. 


Convinced,  resolved,  to  virtue  then  he  turn’d, 
And  in  his  breast  paternal  glory  burn’d. 

So  when  on  Britain’s  other  hope  she  shone, 
Like  him  the  royal  youth  she  won : 

Thus  taught,  he  bids  his  fleet  advance 
To  curb  the  power  of  Spain  and  France. 
Aloft  his  martial  ensigns  flow, 

And  hark ! his  brazen  trumpets  blow ! 

The  watery  profound, 

Awaked  by  the  sound, 

All  trembles  around. 

While  Edward  o’er  the  azure  fields 
Fraternal  wonder  wields, 

High  on  the  deck  behold  he  stands, 

And  views  around  his  floating  bands 
In  awful  order  join  : 

They,  while  the  warlike  trumpet’s  strain; 
Deep  sounding  swells  along  the  main, 
Extend  the  embattled  line. 

Then  Britain  triumphantly  saw 
His  armament  ride 
Supreme  on  the  tide, 

And  o’er  the  vast  ocean  give  law. 


ODE. 


225 


CHORUS. 

Then  Britain  triumphantly  saw 
His  armament  ride 
Supreme  on  the  tide, 

And  o’er  the  vast  ocean  give  law. 

Now  with  shouting  peals  of  joy, 

The  ships  their  horrid  tubes  display, 
Tier  over  tier  in  terrible  array. 

And  wait  the  signal  to  destroy. 

The  sails  all  burn  to  engage : 

Hark ! hark ! their  shouts  arise. 

And  shake  the  vaulted  skies. 
Exulting  with  bacchanal  rage. 

Then,  Neptune,  the  hero  revere, 

Whose  power  is  superior  to  thine ; 
And,  when  his  proud  squadrons  appear. 
The  trident  and  chariot  resign ! 


CHORUS. 

Then,  Neptune,  the  hero  revere, 

Wliose  power  is  superior  to  thine  ; 
And,  when  his  proud  squadrons  appear 
The  trident  and  chariot  resign ! 

15 


226 


ODE. 


Albion,  wake  thy  grateful  voice ! 

Let  thy  hills  and  vales  rejoice : 

O’er  remotest  hostile  regions 
Thy  victorious  hags  are  known ; 

Thy  resistless  martial  legions 

Dreadful  move  from  zone  to  zone. 
Thy  flaming  bolts  unerring  roll, 

And  all  the  trembling  globe  control: 
Thy  seamen,  invincibly  true. 

No  menace,  no  fraud,  can  subdue : 

To  thy  great  trust 
Severely  just. 

All  dissonant  strife  they  disclaim : 

To  meet  the  foe. 

Their  bosoms  glow. 

Who  only  are  rivals  in  fame. 

CHORUS. 

Thy  seamen,  invincibly  true. 

No  menace,  no  fraud  can  subdue : 

All  dissonant  strife  they  disclaim, 

And  only  are  rivals  in  fame. 

For  Edward  tune  your  harps,  ye  Nine ! 
Triumphant  strike  each  living  string, 


ODE. 


227 


For  hinij  in  ecstasy  divine, 

Your  choral  lo  Paeans  sing. 

For  him  your  festive  concerts  breathe, 
For  him  your  flowery  garlands  wreathe ! 
Wake  ! O wake  the  joyful  song ! 

Ye  fauns  of  the  woods, 

Ye  nymphs  of  the  floods. 

The  musical  current  prolong ! 

Ye  silvans,  that  dance  on  the  plain. 

To  swell  the  grand  chorus  accord ! 

Ye  tritons,  that  sport  on  the  main. 
Exulting,  acknowledge  your  lord  ! 

Till  all  the  wild  numbers  combined. 

That  floating  proclaim 
Our  admirafs  name. 

In  symphony  roll  on  the  wind ! 

CHORUS. 

Wake  ! O wake  the  joyful  song ! 

Ye  silvans,  that  dance  on  the  plain, 
Ye  tritons,  that  sport  on  the  main. 
The  musical  current  prolong ! 

O,  while  consenting  Britons  praise. 
These  votive  measures  deign  to  hear ! 


228 


ODE. 


For  thee  my  muse  awakes  her  lays. 

For  thee  the  unequal  viol  plays, 

The  tribute  of  a soul  sincere. 

Nor  thou,  illustrious  chief,  refuse 
The  incense  of  a nautic  muse : 

For  ah!  to  whom  shall  Neptune’s  sons  complain, 
But  him  whose  arms  unrivall’d  rule  the  main  ? 
Deep  on  my  grateful  breast 
Thy  favour  is  imprest : 

No  happy  son  of  wealth  or  fame 
To  court  a royal  patron  came ; 

A hapless  youth,  whose  vital  page 
Was  one  sad  lengthen’d  tale  of  woe, 

Where  ruthless  fate,  impelling  tides  of  rage. 
Bade  wave  on  wave  in  dire  succession  flow. 

To  glittering  stars  and  titled  names  unknown, 
Preferr’d  his  suit  to  thee  alone. 

The  tale  your  sacred  pity  moved ; 

You  felt,  consented,  and  approved. 

Then  touch  my  strings,  ye  blest  Pierian  quire ! 

Exalt  to  rapture  every  happy  line ; 

My  bosom  kindle  with  Promethean  fire, 

And  swell  each  note  with  energy  divine. 

No  more  to  plaintive  sounds  of  woe 
Let  the  vocal  numbers  flow . 


OPE. 


229 


Perhaps  the  chief  to  whom  I sing 
May  yet  ordain  auspicious  days, 

To  wake  the  lyre  with  nobler  lays, 

And  tune  to  war  the  nervous  string. 

For  who,  untaught  in  Neptune’s  school. 
Though  all  the  powers  of  genius  he  possess, 
Though  disciplined  by  classic  rule. 

With  daring  pencil  can  display 
The  fight  that  thunders  on  the  watery  way, 
And  all  its  horrid  incidents  express  ? 

To  him,  my  muse,  these  warlike  strains  belong. 
Source  of  thy  hope,  and  patron  of  thy  song. 

CHORUS. 

To  him,  my  muse,  these  warlike  strains  belong, 
Source  of  thy  hope,  and  patron  of  thy  song. 


THE  FOND  LOVER. 


A BALLAD. 

A NHiiPH  of  every  charm  possess’d 
That  native  virtue  gives, 

Within  my  bosom  all  confess’d, 

In  bright  idea  lives. 

For  her  my  trembling  numbers  play 
Along  the  pathless  deep, 

Wliile  sadly  social  with  ,my  lay 
The  winds  in  concert  weep. 

If  beauty’s  sacred  influence  charms 
The  rage  of  adverse  fate. 

Say  why  the  pleasing  soft  alarms 
Such  cruel  pangs  create  ? 

Since  all  her  thoughts,  by  sense  refined. 

Unartful  truth  express. 

Say  wherefore  sense  and  truth  are  join’d 
To  give  my  soul  distress  ? 

If  when  her  blooming  lips  I press, 
Wliich  vernal  fragrance  fills. 

Through  all  my  veins  the  sweet  excess  * 
In  trembling  motion  thrills, 


THE  FOND  LOVER. 


231 


Say  whence  this  secret  anguish  grows, 
Congenial  with  my  joy  ? 

And  why  the  touch  where  pleasure  glows 
Should  vital  peace  destroy  ? 

If  when  my  fair,  in  melting  song, 

Awakes  the  vocal  lay. 

Not  all  your  notes,  ye  Phocian  throng. 
Such  pleasing  sounds  convey, 

Thus  wrapt  all  o’er  with  fondest  love, 
Why  heaves  this  broken  sigh? 

For  then  my  blood  forgets  to  move, 

I gaze,  adore,  and  die. 

Accept,  my  charming  maid,  the  strain 
Which  you  alone  inspire ; 

To  thee  the  dying  strings  complain 
That  quiver  on  my  lyre. 

O,  give  this  bleeding  bosom  ease. 

That  knows  no  joy  but  thee  ; 

Teach  me  thy  happy  art  to  please, 

Or  deign  to  love  like  me  ! 


ON  THE  UNCOMMON  SCARCITY  OF  POETRY 


IN  THE  gentleman’s  MAGAZINE  FOR  DECEMBER 
LAST,  1755:  Bsr  I.  w.,  A sailor. 

The  springs  of  Helicon  can  winter  bind, 

And  chill  the  fervour  of  a poet’s  mind  ? 

What,  though  the  lowering  skies  and  driving  storm 
The  scenes  of  nature  wide  around  deform, 

The  birds  no  longer  sing,  nor  roses  blow, 

And  all  the  landscape  lies  conceal’d  in  snow? 

Yet  rigid  winter  still  is  known  to  spare 
The  brighter  beauties  of  the  lovely  fair  : 

Ye  lovely  fair,  your  sacred  influence  bring, 

And  with  your  smiles  anticipate  the  spring ! 

Yet  what  avails  the  smiles  of  lovely  maids. 

Or  vernal  suns  that  glad  the  flowery  glades ; 

The  wood’s  green  foliage,  or  the  varying  scene 
Of  fields  and  lawns,  and  gliding  streams  between ; 
Wliat,  to  the  wretch  whom  harder  fates  ordain 
Through  the  long  year  to  plough  the  stormy  main! 
No  murmuring  streams,  no  sound  of  distant  sheep 
Or  song  of  birds  invite  his  eyes  to  sleep  : 


ON  THE  SCARCITY  OF  POETRY 


233 


By  toil  exhausted,  when  he  sinks  to  rest, 

Beneath  his  sun-burnt  head  no  flowers  are  prest. 
Down  on  his  deck  his  fainting  limbs  are  laid ; 

No  spreading  trees  dispense  their  cooling  shade; 
No  zephyrs  round  his  aching  temples  play. 

No  fragrant  breezes  noxious  heats  allay. 

The  rude  rough  wind  which  stern  ^olus  sends 
Drives  on  in  blasts,  and  while  it  cools,  offends. 

He  wakes,  but  hears  no  music  from  the  gi’ove ; 

No  varied  landscape  courts  his  eye  to  rove. 

O’er  the  wide  main  he  looks  to  distant  skies. 
Where  nought  but  waves  on  rolling  waves  arise ; 
The  boundless  view  fatigues  his  aching  sight, 

Nor  yields  his  eye  one  object  of  delight. 

No  “ female  face  divine,’’  with  cheering  smiles, 
The  lingering  hours  of  dangerous  toil  beguiles. 
Yet  distant  beauty  oft  his  genius  fires, 

And  oft  with  love  of  sacred  song  inspires  : 

E’en  I,  the  least  of  all  the  tuneful  train. 

On  the  rough  ocean  try  this  artless  strain : 

Rouse  then,  ye  bards,  who  happier  fortunes  prove, 
And  tune  the  Ij^re  to  nature  or  to  love. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  A NINETY  GUN  SHIP, 

FROM  THE  gentleman’s  MAGAZINE,  MAY,  1759. 

A311DST  a wood  of  oaks  with  canvas  leaves, 

WTiicli  form’d  a floating  forest  on  the  waves, 

There  stood  a tower,  whose  vast  stupendous  size 
Rear’d  its  huge  mast,  and  seem’d  to  gore  the  skies; 
From  which  a bloody  pendant  stretch’d  afar 
Its  comet-tail,  denouncing  ample  war. 

Two  younger  giants  ^ of  inferior  height 
Display’d  their  sporting  streamers  to  the  sight : 

The  base  below,  another  island  rose, 

To  pour  Britannia’s  thunder  on  her  foes. 

With  bulk  immense,  like  ^tna,  she  surveys 
Above  the  rest,  the  lesser  Cyclades : 

Profuse  of  gold,  in  lustre  like  the  sun, 

Splendid  with  regal  luxury  she  shone. 

Lavish  in  wealth,  luxuriant  in  her  pride : 

Behold  the  gilded  mass  exulting  ride ! 

Her  curious  prow  divides  the  silver  waves, 

Fn  the  salt  ooze  her  radiant  sides  she  laves ; 


♦ Fore  and  mizzen  masts. 


OKSCRIPTION  OF  A NINETY  GUN  SHIP.  235 

From  stem  to  stern,  her  wondrous  length  survey, 
Rising  a beauteous  Venus  from  the  sea. 

Her  stem,  with  naval  drapery  engraved, 

Show’d  mimic  warriors,  who  the  tempest  braved ; 
Whose  visage  fierce  defied  the  lashing  surge, 

Of  Gallic  pride  the  emblematic  scourge. 
Tremendous  figures,  lo ! her  stern  displays, 

And  hold  a pharos  ^ of  distinguish’d  blaze ; 

By  night  it  shines  a star  of  brightest  form. 

To  point  her  way,  and  light  her  through  the  storm. 
See  dread  engagements  pictured  to  the  life ; 

See  admirals  maintain  the  glorious  strife : 

Here  breathing  images  in  painted  ire, 

Seem  for  their  country’s  freedom  to  expire ; 
Victorious  fleets  the  flying  fleets  pursue. 

Here  strikes  a ship,  and  there  exults  a crew  ; 

A frigate  here  blows  up  with  hideous  glare, 

And  adds  fresh  terrors  to  the  bleeding  war. 

But  leaving  feigned  ornaments,  behold ! 

Eight  hundred  youths  of  heart  and  sinew  bold, 
Mount  up  her  shrouds,  or  to  her  tops  ascend ; 

Some  haul  her  braces,  some  her  foresail  bend. 

Full  ninety  brazen  guns  her  port-holes  fill. 

Ready  with  nitrous  magazines  to  kill, 


* Her  poop  lanthorn. 


236  DESCRIPTION  OF  A NINETY  GUN  SHIP. 


From  dread  embrasures  formidably  peep, 

And  seem  to  threaten  ruin  to  the  deep : 

On  pivots  fix’d,  the  well-ranged  swivels  lie. 

Or  to  point  downward,  or  to  brave  the  sky ; 
While  peteraroes  swell  with  infant  rage. 
Prepared,  though  small,  with  fury  to  engage. 
Thus  arm’d,  may  Britain  long  her  state  maintain. 
And  with  triumphant  navies  rule  the  main. 


THE  END. 


m 


